#sip to analog

[phonesuite]

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[glassdragons]

Finally got a name for her! Heket, after the bishop of famine from Cult of the Lamb. Aggressive, hungry, and dumb as a rock.

[sightseertrespasser]

White Out

Today’s story is brought to you by several days of accumulated comment exchanges led by @keferon spawner of intriguing AU’s.

In a rare change of events, I’m actually going try (try) to preemptively outline how many chapters a story will be in advance.

The story will be four parts total and are named below:

White Out

White Knuckle

White Elephant

White Hat

Look up tf portal au to see other amazing creators taking this concept and running with it.

Enjoy.

———————————————————————

In. Out.

In. Out.

In. Out.

Slower.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Jazz was breathing manually, which had to be one of the absolute stupidest ways the cons have ever tried to kill him.

He much preferred their earlier stuff. Knives instead of needles, long winded monologues where they reveal their whole plan and how they’re going to kill you because they really do believe that they’re going to kill you.

The good stuff. Informative. Classic.

Not whatever shit one of Soundwaves little punks managed to stick him with.

Jazz blinked rapidly as he felt his eyes going dry from staring at the same crack in the wall for the last fuck knows how long.

He couldn’t turn his head without his vision lagging behind, and the risk of dizziness was too great when he’d just managed to find a hiding spot before the drug really kicked in.

It got worse in waves but he was managing to ride them out. Whenever he had a moment of clarity he’d sip more water and whenever the effects got worse he’d stare straight ahead and focus on not having a panic attack.

At the peak of each wave, Jazz could do exactly one thing at a time. Sometimes it was rubbing his thumb in circles against the concrete to ground himself. Sometimes it was wiping the sweat from his cold neck. Currently, it was breathing manually.

Because for some god fucked reason, he was pretty sure his brain couldn’t do that on its own right now and he’d actually suffocate if he stopped.

His breathing hitched, then manually smoothed.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

His fingers itched where he couldn’t move them. Covered in moon dust he’d been trying to paint onto the floor since he’d escaped. One of the few functional portal guns hummed uselessly on his lap.

Orange. It’s the orange one I need to fire.

Back home, Prowl had its twin, an inactive blue portal waiting for him. Prowl always had a door back home for him.

Now if I could just move enough to open it.

The portal guns were pretty fuckin amazing in Jazz’s opinion, and after the moon incident it became pretty clear that the things range was Yes. The only real limitation was the conductive surface needed to hold a portal.

The smeared white surface on the floor was about half the size he needed.

The tight empty feeling of not enough air snapped his brain back to the present.

In. Out. In. Out.

In. Out.

In.

Out.

After several indeterminate measures of time, Jazz tested his current level of capability by changing the direction of his vision.

He got his head to turn far enough down that he could see the white patch on the floor, so it was mostly in his peripheral. But at least he was kinda looking at it.

He felt well enough to start petting the concrete again. The motion brought to mind the analogy of petting his own brain like some kind of nervous animal to keep it from jumping away.

Once his automatic breathing kicked back in, Jazz turned onto his knees achingly slow. The world wobbling to catch up with his glacial movements.

Just a little longer and he could finish the portal base.

Boots scraped the floor above him, painfully sharp in his ears. “In his current state he can’t have gotten far. If he is gone we’ll just have to move up the time table on project White Out. Keep looking.”

Or now.

Now is fine.

Jazz heaved himself over the white blank mural and started to paint his escape. The shot of adrenaline from hearing the Decepticons enter the fire escape stairwell made his heart stutter over itself in a way that put a great big dark spot in the center of his vision.

I need to get back. I need to finish this and fire the portal to get back home.

Completing the portal is the fastest way inside the Autobot base.

Blinking away the darkness, Jazz moved unconsciously, wiping broad even strokes across the ground. Sweat dripped down his nose. His visor growing cloudy from his steaming breath rising through the freezing air.

Footfalls.

A shout.

And then a gun fired.

—————

Prowl prowled.

He certainly wasn’t pacing. It just so happened that the terminal on one side of the chamber was .0052% faster in sending signals to the solar arrays than the terminal on the other side that streamed camera feed from the west wing with .099% less static.

Therefore, it was perfectly rational for Prowl to stalk back and forth between the two.

And the steady blue glow of the unconnected portal in the center of the chamber was purely circumstantial in its location at the halfway point between those terminals.

He would not look at it.

He would not sit and stare like some forlorn puppy or a sailors wife taking vigil in her bay facing window.

He had a job to do.

Ratchet was with an away team gathering medical supplies. After last time with the twins raiding a veterinary office, it was deemed that expert supervision was worth the risk to bring back the correct supplies.

There was an unfortunate limit to what Prowl could create. He had vast stores of many kinds of chemicals and base elements, but the supply wasn’t infinite. Everything he gave was something he’d never get back.

Chip chip chipping away at the facility, every disaster made him just a little bit smaller.

As he amputated and recycled pieces of himself too damaged to repair, Prowl became intimately acquainted with the looming concept of entropy.

The Autobots were questionable company at times, but there was a hidden value in the ways they staved off that rotting entropy. Both of body and mind.

Symbiosis: (noun)

1. the living together in more or less intimate association or close union of two dissimilar organisms (as in parasitism or commensalism)

2. a cooperative relationship (as between two persons or groups)

Prowl gave them protection, food and warmth.

The Autobots brought him supplemental salvage, entertainment and.. autonomy.

At least, one member did.

He glanced at the static oval of blue.

Prowl had a theory. A completely implausible unscientific theory which he could test, however that would mean considering something no better than a superstition as a serious intellectual phenomenon.

The second Prowl left this room, Jazz would return.

He didn’t need to leave. He really only moved his avatar between the terminals of his central sanctum. He technically didn’t even need to do that. Manual inputs were far slower than simply commanding what needed to be done internally.

Prowl just typed out of habit.

He was staring at the portal again.

Sighing, Prowl looked up where Elita was to discuss her observations of the exterior of his facility in “person.” Finding her on the way back from the roof, Prowl raised his crane into the ceiling of his chamber to meet Elita on the upper floors.

The portal flickered to life.

Ecstatic rage and vindication were completely blown from Prowls processor as he watched Jazz hit the ground so hard he bounced.

Shouting voices carried through the tunnel in reality and Prowl descended.

He was not usually in the habit of leaving the lights on when working alone, so when the shabbily dressed Decepticons approached the ever shifting orange hole punched through space, all they could see was Jazz’s limp form surrounded by darkness.

Then red.

Body like a claw at the end of a mechanical arm, Prowl was wrapped around the spy instantaneously. He snapped up his gaze to the would be kidnappers just beyond the portal. One almost raised a gun on instinct before their more observant cohort yanked them into a full fledged retreat.

The look on Prowls face promised the kind of death that could only be described by a science fiction author dropping acid in the eighties.

A moment later and Prowl disabled the portal while bringing on the lights. He sent a prerecorded facility wide intercom message politely demanding for [medical trained personnel] to immediately report to [central chamber].

Prowl himself, meanwhile, frantically began searching his information banks on everything pertaining to emergency care.

Bombshell had done quite a number on Prowls data banks, deleting scores of “useless” information to free up additional memory and processing power. The first category to go was anything pertaining to keeping humans alive. It wasn’t exactly a priority to Prowl at the time, so he’d not bothered making backups beforehand.

Cursing quietly, Prowl had to focus a camera on a first aid guidelines poster in an employee break room several floors down instead.

1. Do not move unless the environment is dangerous.

Jazz is in the safest possible location.

2. Call for help.

Done.

3. Check subject for mutant mantis men bites or a wire tap.

What? Fucking Tarantulas.

4. Check subject for responsiveness.

“Jazz?��� Prowl gently laid his hands on the human. He couldn’t feel temperature or really even texture but he could clearly see how soaked Jazz’s shirt was beneath the collar of his coat.

“Jazz are you alright?” He was breathing loudly, but didn’t sound like his airways were blocked.

“Hengh.” Jazz moved to roll onto his back and Prowl helped him.

He tried to speak again, “Heeeey Prowle- Pow-wer, oh WOW talk- talk-‘King is weird right now.”

The core of the facility stared down at him. Prowl lifted Jazz’s visor to better see his eyes and Jazz just giggled.

A beat passed, “Your pupils are massive. What happened? Were you drugged?!”

“Feels like it!” Now that he wasn’t trapped in an enemy base, Jazz relaxed considerably and seemed content to become an unhelpful puddle.

Before Prowl could tear out his technically real, technically not hair, Orion and Elita ran into the chamber.

“Buddies!” Cheered the mess on the floor.

“Jazz! You’re okay!” Orion beamed down.

Prowl cut off their reunion with a number of floor panels pulling aside to bring up a fully stocked medical suite.

“Jazz is not okay he has been poisoned with an unknown substance, now would one of you do something?!”

After some scrambling and unnecessary apologies, Jazz was lifted onto the gurney and about half a dozen different monitoring devices were set up.

Prowl was receiving data. He was receiving data that he couldn’t interpret because fucking BOMBSHELL deleted over half of his medical files, and Prowl didn’t have anything else to compare what he was seeing with.

He’d schedule full depth medical screenings with every Autobot available once Ratchet returned. Without a proper baseline Prowl was useless in this department.

Speaking of Ratchet, Elita called over from one of the terminals, “We got Ratchet on the line but the connection is fuzzy. Jazz, how’d you get poisoned?”

“Mmm, stabbed.”

Somewhere deep down in the facilities inner workings, an old pipe burst like a blood vessel.

“WHERE?!” Three voices simultaneously called out.

“Leggy.” Burbled Jazz, who was now wiggling the leg in question with no signs of stopping.

Bemused, confused and deeply entertained, Jazz just snorted when Orion grappled his leg like a small alligator.

A crackling voice came over the terminal, Ratchets frowning mug appearing on the screen, “-leave you idiots alone for two days and the whole damn-“

“Ratchet, I’m sending along the data we’ve acquired so far. None of Jazz’s organs appear to be failing yet but I’ve already come up with a list of possible donors. If we work quickly then-“

Ratchet raised a hand, scolding through the screen, “Hold it HOLD IT! Absolutely NO organ removal without me being the one doing it! Now everyone shut it while I read this. Prowl, give me a couple clear photos of Jazz if you want to be useful.”

The facility core quickly did so snapping pictures of the small puncture wound on Jazz’s leg as well as some wider shots of his overall state.

Ratchet mumbled to himself, barely coming over the microphone, “Blood sugar is a little low, temps running high, there’s signs of an adrenaline spike which makes sense, and a foreign chemical signature of..”

Ratchet guffawed, then broke into a full belly laugh.

Never in any of their individual lives have they ever heard Ratchet laugh at a medical report.

Shaken slightly out of his stupor, Jazz worriedly looked over to the screen and made a noise that was vaguely interrogative and lacked any consonants.

Getting a hold of himself, Ratchet addressed his patient, “Hey kid? Were the cons throwing a party?”

Jazz made another noise that was more confused than concerned. Still without consonants.

Either because of lag or a failing poker face, Ratchets face twitched a smile. “Because you’ve got about two hundred milligrams of THC in your system.”

—————

Jazz felt floaty.

And bored.

Once word got out that Jazz was back, a cause for celebration, and that he was high as fuck, a cause for significantly more childish celebration, social hour began and didn’t stop til Prowl plucked Jazz from the party claw machine style.

The general consensus was that the Cons had definitely intended to kidnap Jazz like they had Mirage. Their choice of drug and the state of the equipment Prowl saw those goons carrying implied the Decepticons were salvaging whatever they could find. They wanted him alive, so they improvised something that would fuck him up but not kill him.

Lucky Jazz.

Injections worked differently from smoking or edibles, so the former party ambulance took an “educated” guess at when it’d wear off and rounded that up by another twelve hours to be safe. He also talked Jazz through how best to ride it out, which Jazz was so using for blackmail material later on.

Interrogating the brick wall of a doctor on his adventurous youth would have to wait though, as he and a few other autobots were still a days travel away.

More concerningly, Ratchet also flagged a couple things that implied Jazz might have caught a cold on top of getting Turbo High, so current orders were to eat, drink and rest.

While everyone was around, he played up the goofy character people expected when they thought of someone being high as balls and Jazz didn’t let up the whole afternoon. He got quite the applause.

That said, his head hurt. He felt cold and exhausted. And he technically hadn’t gotten a chance to actually rest since he first got shanked. But he could’ve kept going. This was the most fun the Autobots had had in a while and he didn’t have the heart to turn them away.

Prowl? Not so much.

He pretty much went limp as a kitten when Prowl swiped him and spent the last of his energy blowing kisses and waving goodbye while Prowl scolded the party over letting him actually rest. Soon enough, Jazz was deposited into his personal room within the facility and left with a little peace and quiet.

A lot of peace and quiet.

Maybe somewhat too much peace and quiet actually.

Sensory overload straight into total silence wasn’t exactly playing nice on his fuzzy brain. So while Jazz focused once more on breathing at a steady pace, he turned to the camera and crooked his fingers in a “C’mere.”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The sharp click of panels in the ceiling indicated Jazz was about to get something much more entertaining to do than breathe.

“Hellooo French fries from the skies.” Jazz sang.

Suppressing a smile, Prowl lowered to his bedside.

“How are you feeling?”

Flopping his head back, Jazz self evaluated, “Tired, bored, thirsty, dizzy and did I mention bored?”

Turns out getting Weed Wacked meant baby sitting duty, except instead of teaching toddlers swear words, Jazz was baby sitting his own brain without pay. And he already knew all his own swear words. Scammed.

“Soup?” Prowl offered.

“Ye.”

A few moments later the greatest invention known to man was delivered.

The two made small talk as Jazz ate, Prowl updating him on what gossip he’d missed and Jazz taking notes. When the walls have literal ears there were certain benefits to befriending its mouth piece.

Eventually Jazz was warm and satiated, eyelids getting droopy.

Well almost satiated, he always was a sucker for desert. He put on his best sultry look which was probably comparable to a half baked bread loaf that was hanging partway off the counter.

Jazz draped himself forward, “Kiss?”

Prowl just laughed once and met him in the middle.

They both knew kissing didn’t physically feel like anything to Prowl, but there was still the emotional feedback that made him run a little warmer beneath the shell. Heck, Prowl offered to give affection about as often as Jazz requested it.

And Prowl was nothing if not indulgent.

Besides, Jazz had learned awhile ago what did make him happy and exploited the hell out of it. The closest thing Prowl experienced to a dopamine hit was when someone did well in completing a test chamber, so Jazz was a regular subject in those spaces.

Jazz did once suggest he could solve a rubix cube while they were making out, however this proved to be logistically challenging.

What was much easier at the moment was to cup his hand around the back of Prowls neck and pull him that much closer.

This near, Jazz could peek and see what Prowl looked with his eyes closed. He smiled into the kiss.

Tracing his fingertips along where the base of his skull would’ve been, Jazz caught the touch of a seam that trailed down the center of his neck and beyond.

He’d been inside there once. After shutting Prowl down and replacing the lost morality core, Jazz wouldn’t let anyone else touch him there.

He wanted to make sure that Prowl would stay Prowl no matter what anyone else tried to argue.

Crisply, Jazz could see the memory in his minds eye: smooth interlocking metal puzzle pieces that folded away with the right touch, compact switches like rows of pin heads, bundles of cabling so carefully spaced out.

He could imagine the feeling of clicking the access panel open and threading his fingers through the wires.

Grasping, then yanking-

“Woah.” Jazz suddenly stopped. Then pulled away completely.

His eyes were scrunched closed tight as he tried to push the mental image from his mind.

From some casual conversation with Prowl previously, Jazz knew, he knew that pulling the plug on Prowl was about as unpleasant an experience as it could get for the guy.

“Is everything alright? Did I do something?” Prowl still had a hand between Jazz’s shoulder blades, so even though he was asking, Prowl didn’t think he was what hurt Jazz.

Jazz scrubbed his face with one hand and waved him off with the other, “Yeah, yeah you’re fine. I think Aunt Mary the hit-man is coming to fuck with me one last time.”

“I see. Do you want me to try and reach Ratchet or anyone else?” Prowl spoke quietly, lightly leaning into his space.

Honestly, Jazz was feeling crummy in that way pre-illness usually did. However the mental image of hurting Prowl was still sharp in his mind and Prowls presence was making it hard to not dwell on. He pushed it away harder and felt a little cold sweat on his back.

“No, no I think I should just sleep this off. Come get me if anything crazy happens though yeah?” Jazz scooted down his bed a little further and got more comfortable.

Prowl lingered, but nodded, “Of course. I’m going to speak with Elita if you need me. She says there’s some concerning cloud cover incoming and wants to know how the facility will handle a white out.”

White Out caught in his mind. He hadn’t told anyone about what he’d heard right?

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He could think the words he wanted but the sound wasn’t forming. Or was it? Ratchet mentioned inner and outer monologues could get a little mixed up on high doses. Maybe he already said it at the party.

He was dropping quickly now, warm and fed and thoroughly exhausted. But he needed to..

He needed to..

“Snow is falling outside.” Prowl looked up through the ceiling into the sky beyond.

His bed was so unfairly soft.

Leaning over one last time, Prowl pulled the blanket a little further up Jazz’s shoulder as the human fought for consciousness.

Softly, in a voice that Jazz suspected Prowl didn’t think he could hear, he said, “I’m glad you came back.”

Jazz had no more voice, nor even a twitch to his fingers, so he put all his thoughts into his eyes and hoped that Prowl could read them.

Me too.

I love you.

I’m pretty sure the impending snow storm is another attempt to kill us all by the Decepticons but I am unfortunately too blasted to communicate that right now so please read the S.O.S. I am trying to blink at you ah fuck my eyes are closed.

Goodnight Prowl.

Goodbye Prowl.

———————————————————————

Tada!

It is so very late at night.

Take care everyone.

- SSTP

[strawberryfanaticccc]

can you watch my boyfriend, please? - c. sturniolo

🫧 chris sturniolo x fem!reader

🫧 the “can you babysit my boyfriend” tiktok couples trend with chris!!

🫧 this is just fluff. there is the use of “y/n” apologies. some swears. that’s about it.

🫧 548 words.

🫧 hi lovelies!! thank u for wanting to read!!!! :) i’ve been seeing tons of videos of this trend & i was inspired. i thought it would fit chris soo well! i hope u enjoy reading bc this was very fun to write!! <3 nick version matt version masterlist

Chris was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping idly on a capri sun and scrolling away on his phone. He was blissfully unaware of his surroundings, he didn’t even hear the sound of your footsteps approaching.

Chris looks up when he hears your voice.

“Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend for me, please? I’ll be back quick, I promise, I just need to go and grab something.

Chris watches you say, smiling at your phone camera, propping it up against the vase of tulips. He looks up at you confused, but you just place a kiss in his hair and smile once more at the camera before leaving the kitchen.

“Uhm,” Chris mumbles out, looking confusedly at the camera.

His confusion only lasts a moment though before he starts speaking. “So I was up late last night, and I stumbled upon this video about analog horror and liminal spaces and the backrooms and such. And then I found this one guys youtube channel and I’ve been binging his videos since like three am. Dude, the backrooms are fucking freaky. I just know they would make Nick paranoid as fuck, so I definitely have to show them to him,” he says with a laugh.

He reaches for his capri sun. “Oh! I’ve been on such a capri sun kick for the past like week. Pepsi is still my number one though,” he says, making a heart with his hands.

“Hey, how do people make the heart with their fingers? Y/N can do it, and she’s tried teaching me, but I just can’t seem to get it!” Chris huffs out, attempting to make a heart with his fingers. He stares down at them trying to bend them into the shape he’s seen you do multiple times.

He lets out a huff, looking back up at the camera, and letting his hands fall onto the table. “See, I just can’t seem to get it!”

“Oh! Oh! We went out to eat yesterday for dinner, and,” Chris cuts himself off with a little giggle, “and we witnessed this guy scrape all the toppings off his pizza and then stack the pieces up on the tray. I’ve never in my twenty years seen someone do that!”

Chris looks up when hears you approaching.

You lean over his shoulder. “Hey, I’m back, thanks for watching him guys. I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

Chris looks up at you offended by this statement, but you just smile down at him, and place a hand in his hair, reaching with the other to end your recording.

—

comments

the way chris had to assure us that pepsi was still his number one beverage choice 😭

pls let us babysit him again, he was very well behaved. just talked our ears off, 10/10 very pleasant 😁

not chris wanting to show nick the backrooms knowing he’d be paranoid by them 😭

someone did what with their pizza????

capri suns are 🔥🔥🔥

him trying to do the finger heart is so 🥺💕

don’t worry chris, i too, cannot do the finger heart

his giggleeee 💞💞💞

how to be in a relationship like chris & y/n no borax no glue

they’re such cuties 🥰

the way she is with him 🥺 oh i want that badddd

[lis-likes-fics]

Caught Up

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Word Count: 3.2k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, fingering, swearing, Spencer being way to sweet for anyone's own good... A/N: I've had a major writer's block since the beginning of November and this is literally the only thing I've been able to write so I hope you enjoy this bite-size fic. Hopefully, I'll be back in my groove soon and I'll be able to write more again. Until then, thank you and happy holidays!

Your relationship with Spencer had caught the both of you by surprise.

You met at a bar. You were solemnly eating peanuts as you traced the lip of your first glass of a vodka cranberry, sipping slowly and hardly even touched. Spencer was out with Penelope, Derek, and Emily, who'd found time for a drink after a busy work day.

You hadn't intended to go home with anyone that night. You were bored and a little lonely, trying to find a way to pass the night that wasn't you cooped up in your apartment watching movies in bed.

Spencer had seen you there, sitting alone and looking far too pretty for anyone's good. Derek had to shove him just to get him to go talk to you—he'd been staring long enough that it's a wonder you hadn't noticed.

When Spencer came up to you, you took one look at his pretty face and your night was already improving immensely. He was so unbelievably beautiful—sharp-jawed, long-haired, with eyes of caramel and a smile as bright as the sun. He talked your ear off about things you knew nothing about and nearly stuttered every time you tilted your head while he spoke. He kept apologizing for ranting, to which you kept telling him that listening to him speak was the only thing you wanted to do (he'd get all flustered and fall into another bout about prions or how humans bred dogs to bark).

He was endearing and lovely and kept telling you that you were so beautiful, and you were immediately taken with him. You stared at him like he was the one who created the stars in the sky.

So you took him home that night—which had also come as a surprise.

You honestly hadn't meant for it to happen. You invited him over for a cup or coffee (the bar would close soon, you'd talked for that long), and in the middle of one of his rants, you kissed him. It would have just been a kiss, but Spencer Reid kisses like you're air itself and he's been suffocated for years. You found your way into his lap, and the next thing you knew, he was laying you on your bed and kissing you and touching you and making you feel like the most special girl on Earth.

The first time was full of care. He was kind, he checked up on you at every turn, he used soft lips and softer hands. He held you close during every embrace and backed every touch with another kiss just to make sure you were perfectly comfortable. When you woke the next morning, he kissed you again and greeted you with coffee. (He'd profiled you based on your coffee cabinet and managed to make it to perfection.)

You would spend that day wrapped up in him, listening to him speak and telling him your life story like you were a book and he was your first reader (too eager to be known that you share every single detail you have to give just so you can be held a little longer in someone's hands). It's important to note that his speedy words and listening ears were not the only thing to embrace you that day.

He treated you well, and you treated him just as well. He made you laugh, he made you smile, he made you feel safe and happy.

Through the time you've been together, Spencer has come to learn a lot about you. You don't like eating with big spoons. You have an analog clock because you love the way it looks (you don't really use it), and the ticking drives you crazy at night but you refuse to switch to digital. You love to bake but you still haven't managed to perfect a cake from scratch (which drives you insane because you really can bake, you swear!).

But one of the things Spencer learned quickly is that you have a very high sex drive. You told him that, for a while, you thought you were a nymphomaniac. Then he described the full psychology of a nymphomaniac, and you decided that it may have been a bit of an exaggeration.

Either way, he was very happy to satiate your needs. At first, it was difficult to spend time together without falling into bed. And it's not like you didn't try! But the more he looked at you and the more he spoke and the more he told you how pretty you looked, the harder it was to keep from jumping his bones. He had a similar experience with you.

He was no sex god like he assumed Morgan to be, but the more he indulged, the harder it was not to think about getting to hold you, to kiss you, to taste you. He found immense pleasure in your pleasure. He once burned his hand at work pouring himself a cup of coffee because he got distracted thinking about something as simple as holding your hand or kissing your lips, which led to worse and worse until he found himself lucky the coffee wasn't freshly brewed.

It was hard to deny the other. You couldn't even say no when he asked you to hold his hand while you walked down a street, how were you supposed to say no when he got on his knees and looked up at you like you were the moon? How was he supposed to say no when you looked at when you ran your fingers through his curls and kissed the spot behind his ear?

Even now, it's an accident. He's looping his tie in front of the big mirror hanging from your closet door, trying to get ready for work. He catches your reflection, laying across the bed in sleep shorts and a dainty tee, a pillow clutched in your arms beneath you as you watched him. You don't say anything, you don't move, you just look at him as he gets ready. And he thinks, How am I supposed to leave when she looks like that?

“Spencer?” You murmur after a bit, watching him card his fingers through his hair.

“Yes, angel?” He says it with all the sweetness of a kiss and all the familiarity of your name.

You smile at him, holding your hand out for him. He melts like butter, stepping toward you to take your fingers in the palm of his hand. He squeezes twice. “What?” he whispers without cruelty, without urgency, a simple question to know what you're thinking.

You shrug. “Nothing,” you mumble. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”

His smile alone could make you cry. He bends down onto his knees, his elbows on the bed as he reaches for you. The pad of his fingers finds your temples, sliding gently into your hair until he's cradling your head like a basketball. He brings you forward, kisses your lips with the softest touch.

Your smile curves against his lips. You scoot forward enough to relieve some of the strain of reaching, tilting your head so your noses slide with each up and down of your heads. Your hands come to hold his wrists, gentle fingertips caressing the skin like you're testing the smoothness of marble.

When you break away, it's because a soft laugh erupts from his throat. You pull back in slight surprise, your brows furrowed in question as you chuckle lightly. “What?” you breathe.

He shakes his head, his fingers finding your cheeks. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I just don't know how I got so lucky…”

You can't handle it when he says stuff like that. Your heart is beating so hard in your chest, you think you'll have to go to the hospital. Whatever patterns it's taken up can definitely be described as irregular, and you're going to have heart disease.

“I'm the lucky one,” you try to say.

But he shakes his head again. “Trust me, it's me.”

You're the one who shakes her head next, kissing him again with your hands cradling his neck. “You're so perfect,” you mutter between kisses.

Spencer's hand covers your mouth. It's nothing cruel, just his fingers curling gently over your lips as an uncontrollable smile takes over his. “Stop,” he chuckles, though his voice is dripping with regret. “We can't.”

You move his hand down. “We're just kissing.”

He rubs the tip of his nose into your cheek, inhaling your scent before pulling away reluctantly. “We have a pattern.” He takes both your hands in his, stroking the back of your palms with his thumb. “Every time you kiss me with your hands on my neck, we have sex.”

You giggle, and it's the sweetest thing. “Not every time,” you smile.

He kisses you quickly, like a millisecond longer would lead to more than just kissing. “Eight times out of ten.” He looks at your face, sighing gently and feeling a pang in his chest knowing that he has to leave you soon. He can't be late again this week.

He paints a line down your cheek with his knuckles. “Do you want to come over tonight?” He pinches your chin gently. “Or I could come over and bring takeout?”

You caress his cheekbones with your nails, tracing the blush in his skin. “I'll bring you takeout tonight.”

He smiles. “You sure? I can get it.”

Your laughter is so comfortable, it sounds more like a giggle. “So can I. Let me spoil you.” You kiss him again.

He sighs, the sound fond in and of itself. “Okay.” Spencer stands to his feet, holding his hand out to you. “Give me a proper hug, angel.” It sounds more hopeful than it does demanding.

You stand on the edge of the bed, towering over him as you wrap your arms around his head. He holds you tight, laying his head on your chest and inhaling your scent. You stay there for a while, holding the other like it's the last time you'll ever hold each other.

You cradle his neck again, kissing him with a gentle sigh. His head tilts backward to give you the space, grabbing your waist as his thumbs trace your skin the same way your thumbs trace his cheeks. The more you try to break away, the deeper you make the kiss. His hands are so warm, and his lips are so soft. You'd be remiss if you didn't bask in him.

Spencer's lips slide off your own to kiss the corner of them, brushing against your jawline as you lift your chin to let him. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, a little whine. “I really need to go…”

You chuckle lightly, your breath thin the more he kisses your neck. “Go,” you sigh, the word quiet and half-heartedly, though not intended to be. “I'll see you tonight…”

His hands tighten on your waist, dipping beneath your shirt so he can feel your soft skin in his palms. He makes that sound again, dipping his head slightly to press open-mouthed kisses to your chest. Your lips part, shallow breaths passing through them as your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

He pulls you closer to him, one arm around your back as the other bends your knee. Your legs wrap around his waist, and he holds you up with strong arms. “I have to go now,” he mumbles between heated kisses.

You nod, making no move to unravel from him. “I know.” A kiss. “Have a good day, honey.”

He bends down, laying you on the bed and ducking his hand beneath your shirt. His palm gropes your breast, his thumb tweaks your nipple. You gasp against his lips.

His free hand grabs at your waist. He kneads it in his palm, he presses his fingers into your skin. He brushes his knuckles over your flesh and smiles when you shudder. “Feel good?” he whispers.

You nod, carding your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “Yeah. Really good.”

“Good,” he kisses your neck. His hand sinks lower, his finger hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “This okay?”

Your nod is quicker this time, more enthused. “Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, please.”

Spencer pulls your shorts down your legs, helping you take them off without once ever pulling away from you. He strokes your newly exposed skin, humming deep in his throat at the feeling of it. You hike your knee higher up his side, opening yourself up for him.

His hand dips between your legs, fingers curling around the inside of your thigh. He strokes a short line up and down.

A tiny curse slips past your lips. “Can you touch me, Spence? Just a little?”

He whines again, heavier breaths puffing from parted lips. “I want to,” he says. “But I have work, and–” He interrupts himself, leaning down to capture your lips.

When he pulls back, you're nodding. “Y-Yeah. Go, baby. Go work and then… then when you get back–”

He pushes a long, slender finger inside of you. Your breath hitches, your lips pressing messily together. You feel the slightest shake of his head, his nose bumping yours. A second finger joins the first, splitting you open as a moan spills past your lips. A tiny smile spreads his mouth.

You tangle your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, your hips lifting toward his hand when he thrusts his fingers gently in and out of you. “Ah, fuck, Spence.”

His mouth latches onto your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his teeth lightly grazing as his tongue darts out to taste it. Your hand tightens a bit to take a fistful of his hair. You don't yank his hair, but you can hear the tiny grunts that come out of him at the light tugs at his scalp.

His fingers curl inside you, pumping deep and slow and building up the more you gasp around him. “Does this feel good?” he asks breathlessly into the skin of your neck.

You nod, clenching around his fingers as your eyes squeeze shut. “Yes, baby. Please don't stop,” you sigh with each in and out of his fingers. The deep strokes are warm and inviting, like shining a light through your fingers to see it glow. You roll your hips to meet the movements of his hand, and reward his intoxicating thrusts with short gasps.

He presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, and you feel yourself giving in. His lips and teeth and tongue trace your collarbone, and you know he'll leave you today with a wonderful mark just below it to remind you of him (although he'll apologize and ask you if he hurt you when he sees it, then he'll kiss it better, which will lead to this all over again).

His fingers stroke deep inside you, curling and pumping and pulling your release closer and closer. He's coaxing it out of you with the kindness of beckoning a scared animal. He loves on your skin and whispers how wonderful you are and makes it more and more impossible for you to let him go all day long.

You wish you could spend forever wrapped up in bed with him. You don't even have to do anything. You would be completely and utterly content laying against him and talking, or letting him talk, or sitting in silence and simply enjoying his company.

A knot is building in your belly—one that you've become quite accustomed to feeling these past few weeks. The tighter it wounds, the deeper you breathe as you arch your chest into his mouth. He continues to embrace you, whispering, “That's it, angel. Just breathe. I've got you, I promise. I'm right here. Let go for me.” He coos your name like it's the sweetest thing in the world and smiles when you coo his back.

Your hands cradle his head as the knot snaps and sends a wave of pleasure over your body, taking you under and letting you breathe in the ecstasy. It's not explosive by any means, but it's warm and comforting and covers you in goosebumps as you card your fingers through his hair and pet him and hold him as close as you can as he continues to kiss and coo and curl.

Your breath shudders and shakes with the rest of your body, interrupted only by whimpers and the humming of his name on your lips.

Spencer pulls his fingers from the wet warmth between your thighs and kisses you with all the intimacy of your orgasm. You sigh into his lips and let yourself be taken by his consuming care.

“You're so perfect,” he whispers into your lips, kissing you in short pecks over and over and over again like he just can't get enough of you. “You know that? I used to believe that it is statistically and theoretically impossible for a human being to be perfect, but then you come along and destroy any idea of it that I've ever had.”

You both laugh, happy breaths in each other's spaces as you indulge in the other between more drunken kisses. “Guess that's why you call me angel.”

His smile rivals the sun. You don't think you can stare at him much longer, but you also don't think you could ever forgive yourself if you looked away.

“You are my angel,” he says, another kiss. Then a sigh of regret and, quite frankly, remorse pushes out from his chest. “And I have to go to work now. Hotch will be furious that I'm late again.”

You kiss him again, keeping it short. “Sorry for keeping you, doctor.”

He laughs. He's full of laughs when he's with you. “I don't regret it one bit.”

You help him tidy up once more so that he looks presentable again. You smooth out his clothes, comb your fingers through his hair, and kiss his cheek to avoid getting distracted again. You walk him to your door, arms around backs and tucked into the other.

He opens the door and turns back to you, picking up your hands in his and squeezing them gently. “I'll see you tonight?” His eyes sparkle with all the hope in the world. He's going to give you irregular heartbeats. You're going to get sick and die.

“Of course, handsome.” You lean up on your toes, hands on his chest as you peck his lips. It's short and sweet, he doesn't even have time to close his eyes. Yet when you sit back on your feet, his eyes are closed.

He smiles, lingering for a moment. He looks at you. “You didn't touch my neck.”

You chuckle lightly, patting his chest. “Well…we have a pattern.” You pull his bag back up his arm, resting it on his shoulder. “I'll see you tonight, Spence.”

He cradles your elbows, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your skin. “Bye, angel.” He gives you a dangerous kiss to your lips, and then he's gone.

You're left watching him walk down the hall, leaning on your door frame and smiling after him like some lovesick fool. To be fair, you are a lovesick fool. After all, your heart’s doing flips. You should schedule a doctor's appointment.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 @hiireadstuff @chloelmao67 @feyresqueen @hbwrelic @princess76179 @hc-geralt-23 @hits-different-cause-its-you Dr. Reid taglist: @swwanlake @imgonnaslurpu Tag yourself here...

[palevcr]

── ⤷ ゛ LATE NIGHT LOGIC ˎˊ˗

SUMMARY: When Rafe Cameron locks eyes with her over a bootleg Smiths record, he doesn’t expect a full-blown war to erupt in the middle of a dusty record store. She’s sharp-tongued and sharp-dressed—ripped tights, silver rings, and band tees that hang just right—and she plays dirty. He loses the record, but gains her number, and suddenly, the lonely hours are filled with 3AM playlists, chaotic voice notes, and mirror selfies that make his chest feel too tight. They text constantly—about everything and nothing—until everything feels like something. Between shared fanfiction kinks, half-lit confessions, and voice notes that leave him red-faced and breathless, he’s spiraling fast. She's a little bit chaos, a little bit poetry, and entirely impossible. He doesn’t stand a chance. And maybe that’s the point.

genre: modern texting situationship, alt!reader x nerd!rafe, late-night digital intimacy, chaotic romance, slow-burn emotional tension, yearning, slightly deranged girl behavior

paring: nerd!Rafe Cameron x 2007angel!reader

tw: suggestive content, sext-coded mirror selfies, voice note-induced horny spirals, masturbation mention (m), fanfiction obsession, self-worth issues, playlist intimacy, post-nut guilt (m), unspoken emotional vulnerability, praise kink hints, texting as foreplay, “you make me nervous” energy, emotional repression, soft attachment masked as irony

Rafe stood hunched over a battered wooden crate of vinyls, its corners dulled with time, edges fraying like the hem of a well-worn flannel. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered softly, casting a jaundiced glow on the already dust-heavy room. The record store had the air of something sacred, like a church for people who spoke in guitar solos and liner notes. He came here religiously—weekly, if not more. The old man who owned the place, a half-deaf, chain-smoking relic with a beard stained the same amber hue as a long-forgotten scotch, always gave Rafe a discount. Maybe out of pity. Or maybe he assumed Rafe had no real friends, just obscure bands and vintage pressings to keep him company. It wasn’t entirely wrong. Rafe had friends—Topper and Kelce—but they didn’t exactly share his taste for underground bootlegs and the crackling static of analog sound. They tolerated him, the way you tolerate a weirdly intelligent pet.

He took a slow sip from his lukewarm coffee, fingers on his other hand flipping through record sleeves with clinical precision, the practiced motion of a surgeon slicing through muscle memory. He was on the hunt—specifically, for a rare hybrid bootleg of The Smiths’ Hatful of Hollow crossed with a live recording from a 1986 show in Boston. He’d read about it once in the footnotes of a Rolling Stone article from the nineties and had since built the whole thing up in his head like it was the fucking Ark of the Covenant. Three stores down. This was the last shot.

And then—he saw it. The unmistakable spine, black with weathered white text, peeking out between two scratched ELO albums. His fingers darted forward, the thrill of discovery buzzing low in his chest, only to crash headfirst into disappointment when another hand reached for the same record.

Slim fingers, tipped with perfectly manicured navy-blue nails, adorned in silver rings—chunky, loud, and unapologetically over-accessorized. Feminine, definitely. Intentional chaos in jewelry form. He looked up.

And there she was.

She looked like every hormone-fueled fantasy he’d ever had at seventeen, only real and standing within reach. Her face was punctuated by piercings: a delicate eyebrow ring, a stud in her left nostril, a lip ring she toyed with using her tongue—the same tongue he caught a flash of, pierced in the center, when she parted her lips to speak. But nothing felt excessive. It was curated mess, rebellion executed with aesthetic precision.

“I saw it first,” she said, tilting her head just enough to raise the pierced brow. Her voice was low, almost amused, but there was weight behind it. She wasn’t bluffing.

Rafe blinked, momentarily forgetting how to operate language. Then his gaze dropped—just for a second—but long enough to drink in her outfit like he’d forget the details if he didn’t memorize them now. A distressed, off-shoulder Pierce the Veil tee, blackened at the edges with wear, clung loosely to her frame, slipping enough to reveal a sharp collarbone and the strap of a fraying bra. Tiny black denim shorts sat low on her hips, hugged tight with a silver-studded belt that glinted under the dim lights. Torn, patterned tights ran down her legs, framed by tall, knee-high black Converse, laced with chaotic white strings like a punk ballerina.

She was accessorized like she was allergic to minimalism: layered silver necklaces, a mismatched riot of bracelets—some spiked, others beaded, all clashing gloriously. A black shoulder bag hung from her arm like an afterthought. She looked like the kind of girl who skated to therapy and fought her exes in parking lots.

“Saw doesn’t mean owned,” Rafe replied, trying hard not to sound like he was being electrocuted by proximity alone. “And I think you have the wrong section. My Chemical Romance is over there.” He gestured lazily, coffee cup still in hand.

Her laugh was short and sardonic, lips curling around it like a dare. “Okay, nerd. What, are you gonna fight me for it?”

“If I must,” he said, too quickly. Too serious.

And he was. He absolutely would arm wrestle for a record. Especially if it meant her sitting across from him, fire in her eyes, their hands clasped in sweaty, ridiculous combat over a bootleg pressing and mutual stubbornness.

She tugged. So did he. What started as a civil disagreement over a shared interest quickly devolved into a quiet, petty war of stubborn fingers and smug eye contact. The record between them—old, coveted, fragile—was now the unwilling rope in their impromptu tug-of-war match.

“Are you seriously going to fight me over this?” she asked, a dry laugh curling out of her throat. Her voice was airy but edged in disbelief. “I’m a girl.”

Rafe didn’t flinch. “Good for you. You have a uterus. You should throw a party for it.” His tone was flat, almost too casual, like he hadn’t just delivered the snarkiest response of his life while battling a stranger in a record store. His grip on the album tightened. He wasn’t letting go just because she was pretty—or a girl—or both.

She stared at him, mouth parted slightly in exaggerated disbelief, before a slow, dangerous smile began to spread across her face. Her head tilted to the side, piercings glinting under the dim light, and there was a flicker of something mischievous in her eyes, like she’d just discovered a toy she wasn’t quite finished playing with.

“Tell you what,” she said, the words honey-smooth and far too composed for someone halfway through a vinyl skirmish. “I’ll give you the record…”

Rafe’s brows lifted. “Yeah?” His voice cracked on the word, betraying a flicker of hope and a complete lack of preparation for what came next.

“…if you give me your number.”

And just like that, his entire nervous system flatlined.

He blinked. Once. Twice. His hand didn’t move, but it weakened, barely enough for her fingers to slide underneath and hook the bottom edge of the album with practiced ease. He didn’t even notice. He was too busy reeling from the fact that a girl who looked like that just flirted like that.

“What?” he asked, and if his voice was any higher, only dogs would’ve heard it.

“You heard me,” she said, nonchalant as anything, examining her nails as if he weren’t rapidly unraveling in front of her. “Digitally transfer your contact information to my cellular device and maybe I’ll be kind.”

She produced her phone from her back pocket—navy blue, naturally, slightly scuffed at the corners. Of course it was navy. Of course even her electronics matched her aesthetic. Rafe took it with hands that didn’t quite feel like his, thumbs fumbling with the keyboard as he typed his name with excruciating slowness, terrified of making a typo. He could feel her watching him. Not intently—no, it was lazier than that. Detached. Curious. The way a cat watches a fly struggle in a windowsill.

Once he’d finished, he handed the phone back with all the awkward tension of a teenager returning a crush’s pen, except this time the pen was a fucking smartphone and his heart was thudding against his ribs like a riot shield.

She took it with no urgency, slowly typing something before slipping it into her bag with a self-satisfied smile. “Thanks,” she chirped sweetly.

And then—like a magician revealing her final trick—she yanked the record free from his hand and stepped back, triumphant, the album hugged to her chest like a trophy she absolutely deserved.

“Wait—” Rafe sputtered, hands still frozen in midair, as if he could will the vinyl back into his grasp through sheer indignation.

She was already walking backwards toward the register, smirking over her shoulder. “I said I’d give it to you,” she called out, sing-song and unapologetic, “I didn’t say when.”

He stood there, stunned into silence, blinking after her as if his brain was still buffering. The record was gone. So was she, slipping between the aisles like smoke. All that remained was the faint echo of her laughter and the lingering scent of citrus shampoo and cigarette smoke.

He stared down at his empty hands, then muttered to himself, barely audible: “...Jesus Christ.”

Later that night, Rafe was sunk deep into the faded couch in his apartment, limbs sprawled in a restless sprawl and expression twisted into something sour. He’d just lost a brutal game of Fortnite to Topper—who wouldn’t stop gloating over comms—and his mood had been steadily declining ever since. A damp, barely edible sandwich sat beside him on the armrest, its soggy bread congealing into something that looked more like punishment than food. Add to that the fact that the record—the record—had been snatched right out from under his fingertips by the most infuriatingly hot girl he’d ever met, and yeah, he was not having a good night.

Still, there was something comfortable in the way his hoodie clung to his frame, sleeves a little too long, and the way his sweatpants bunched at the ankles. Comfort was rare. He was trying to bask in it—trying being the operative word.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He didn’t rush to check it, expecting either Topper or Kelce to be sending a half-assed invite to some house party neither of them would remember attending. Probably with a “bring beer” or a “yo, where you at?” tacked on the end. He reached over lazily, thumb swiping across the screen.

But it wasn’t them.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: the record is great, even better when im thinking about u :))

He blinked. Sat up slightly. His eyes scanned the message again, brain catching up with the implications—particularly the last part, the one that seemed to echo in neon across his mind like graffiti under blacklight.

Another ping.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: y/n btw, from the store :p

Rafe stared at the screen, heart giving a small, startled jolt in his chest. His mouth twitched, involuntarily, into a smile that pulled uneven at one corner—wry, incredulous, a little dazed. He could still see her in his mind, crystal clear: the messy layers of black eyeliner, the constellation of piercings, the wicked smirk she wore like lip gloss. And now she was texting him? About him?

He didn’t even hesitate. His fingers moved quickly, saving the contact—Y/N (Record Thief)—before he tapped out a reply with practiced ease.

RAFE: you’re evil.

And then, because his grin wouldn’t go away and because he could still smell her perfume in the back of his mind like cigarette smoke in a hoodie’s lining, he added another.

RAFE: but i haven’t stopped thinking about you either.

It became a ritual, quiet and unspoken. From that night on, their messages never stopped—constant, crackling back-and-forths that filled the silent hours between classes and late nights. They talked about everything and nothing: obscure albums, cursed childhood memories, weird local folklore, what breed of dog they’d be if reincarnation was real. She sent voice notes more often than she typed, and Rafe never complained. Her voice curled around his brain like smoke—dry and amused, sometimes sleepy, sometimes bright with laughter. It was familiar in a way that unsettled him, made him feel like she was always just a little too close, whispering things into the soft hollow of his ear even when she was miles away.

Not that it meant anything. Not like that, you perv—he’d tell himself, kicking his feet under his desk after she’d say his name just so in the middle of a story about stealing incense from Hot Topic. But there was that one night. The one he tried very hard to pretend hadn’t happened. He’d been high—very high—couchlocked and scrolling aimlessly through their old chats, chasing the dopamine hit of her voice when he found it: a voice note from earlier that week, one he hadn’t really registered the first time around. She was rambling, laughing at herself, probably halfway through a story about a cursed tattoo shop or a man with three ferrets on a leash. But then, mid-sentence, she'd said his name. Soft. Barely a breath. Something in the cadence, the casual intimacy, the lazy way she let it roll off her tongue like she’d known it forever—it fried every single brain cell in his skull.

The earbuds stayed in. His hand drifted south. He came too fast, way too fast, heat curling low and stupid in his belly while her voice filled his head. Afterwards, he lay there in stunned silence, one arm flung over his eyes, the other still curled guiltily over his stomach. “What the fuck, dude,” he whispered to the ceiling. The ceiling, in its infinite wisdom, said nothing back. They never spoke of it. Not then. Not ever.

She made him playlists like it was a love language. No warning, just links sent at inhuman hours—3:47 a.m., 5:12 p.m., 11:11 exactly—captioned with things like “this sounds like ur brain if it had static” or “play this while reading fanfic about morally grey villains.” The songs were weird, disjointed, beautiful. He listened to every single one of them with a reverence he wouldn’t admit out loud.

And the selfies. Jesus Christ, the selfies. Mostly taken in her bedroom mirror, which was rimmed with chipped stickers and lipstick kisses, lit by fairy lights or the harsh blast of a camera flash. Sometimes she wore oversized band tees that hung so loose they slipped off her shoulder, exposing the edge of a strap or a glint of silver jewelry; sometimes she wore those microscopic shorts that barely counted as fabric. Her lips were always parted, like she’d been caught mid-thought or mid-sentence, like maybe she was about to say his name again. Rafe stared at them longer than was healthy. He left them on read because he forgot how to form words, forgot what a keyboard even was. And then, hours later, he’d finally respond with something criminally underwhelming like “cool shirt” or “u look nice.” His hands would shake when he sent them.

She never made him feel stupid about it. In fact, she responded to his selfies—hesitant, grainy little things taken in front of his bathroom mirror or his laptop screen like he was submitting himself for review—with the kind of energy that made his skin heat. Told him his eyelashes were unfair, that his jaw shouldn’t be allowed to look that good at 2 a.m., that his neck was doing things to her. Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to do with that. No one had ever looked at his bad lighting and shitty angles and decided he was hot. But she did. Over and over.

Somewhere in the chaos of voice notes and playlists and desperate selfies, he admitted—under duress, mind you—that he read fanfiction. Not out loud, of course, but in a text sent with enough disclaimers to qualify as a legal document. She’d only laughed, replied “ur adorable” and then immediately started flooding him with her favorite fics. Rafe, like the simpering loser he was, read every single one. Religiously. Annotated in his head. Developed opinions. And learned very quickly that she was a lot less innocent than he thought.

Because her taste in fanfiction? Filthy. Unapologetically filthy. Shit that had him checking the lock on his door twice before opening AO3. Every other kink was something he hadn’t even realized existed, let alone something that would have him shifting on his bed, adjusting his pants and clenching his jaw. One night, over a FaceTime call, he brought it up—jokingly, kind of. Asked her if she had a side hustle writing smut under a pen name. She only shrugged and said, cool as anything, “I’m just expanding your horizons.”

And the thing was? She really was. In more ways than one.

— all rights reserved © PALEVCR all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate nor repost as yours.

[fortunxa]

「 ✦ brewing feelings ✦ 」

Jinx x ballerina!reader / modern AU

─── ballerina masterlist ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ // third position

summary: Your calm was like the stillness of water before it begins to boil, while Jinx’s chaos swirled around her like a whirlwind of heat and flavor. Your love brewed slowly, like leaves unfurling in warm water—an unexpected infusion of something that neither of you could have prepared for. But love doesn’t ask for permission. It brews on its own time, in its own way, and somehow, it always finds its way to the heart—a warmth that lingers long after the last sip.

contents: modern AU, opposites attract, established relationship, smoker!Jinx

author's note: the flow is flowing, so this is what i do instead of studying for a law exam. also, french/french-speaking people please do not come for me for the mild stereotyping in this, i am one of you. all for the story’s purposes my pookies.

Jinx never expected to fall for you. It caught her off guard, sneaking in quietly and subtly, much like the way the morning sun spills its golden light through dust-coated windows, illuminating everything it touches—and perhaps this analogy felt a little too real.

It hadn't happened all at once. Love never did, not really. It grew between you like a vine threading through cracks, tender and persistent, finding places you hadn't known were empty.

The confession revealed itself through a series of subtle admissions at first: how you leaned into her during a walk home, how she started buying pink roses instead of spray paint, how the both of you let yourselves be seen. It was in the way her teasing remarks slowly mixed in with praises and in the way you'd sit beside her on rooftops, watching her paint murals on forgotten walls, your admiring gaze an encouragement in itself.

You even started bringing snacks—carefully wrapped sandwiches or thermoses of tea—because you knew Jinx would forget otherwise. The real kicker, though? Jinx didn't forget; she just hated tea. Something she would never admit to you, of course, because your warmth was better than any beverage’s, and she just couldn't bear to see your beaming smile fade in disappointment.

It was how her pulse quickened when you laughed—that soft, quiet laugh that she felt more than heard. How she found excuses to touch you—fingers brushing during a handoff, an arm slung around your shoulders, a hand catching you when you stumbled. It was in the way you began looking for Jinx in every room, how your heart stuttered when she called you "ballerina" in that raspy voice. It was in the way late-night conversations grew longer, your silences more comfortable.

She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment she realized it, but she remembered the way it settled in her chest—a quiet knowing. And it terrified Jinx because her world was—more often than not—anything but quiet.

For weeks, you lived in that in-between space, balancing the line between friendship and something more. By the time you finally let the word slip, it felt inevitable. The air was still thick with chemicals after a particularly messy graffiti session, and she had just stepped back to admire her latest creation. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and excitement, though as she turned to you for approval, you found something warmer in them, too.

Then, in a moment that felt both spontaneous and fated, she leaned in. The kiss was tentative, a gentle brush of lips that carried the weight of questions unasked. And you answered without hesitation, finally tasting the allure of her cherry chapstick mixed with the warmth of her breath and melting against her like you'd been waiting forever.

Months later, the ballet studio hummed with the soft notes of a piano, the same way it always did. The late afternoon sun filtered through the high windows, painting the room with a hazy gold. Jinx leaned against the wall with her arms crossed as she watched you dance, her gaze holding an intensity that would've made anyone else self-conscious. She wasn't supposed to be here—not during class, anyway—but she had a way of slipping past boundaries as easily as she slipped past locked doors.

And besides, how could she stay away when you looked like this? She just couldn't help herself this time.

You were in the center of the room, surrounded by other dancers. But to her, you might as well have been alone. Every movement was graceful, like you were born to make beauty out of thin air. There was something humbling about it. Jinx had always felt like she was meant for breaking things, for running too fast and hitting walls she didn't see coming. She wasn't a dancer—hell, she didn't even really understand ballet—but she didn't need to. All she needed to understand was you, and she did.

You hadn't noticed her yet, too focused on the lesson unfolding in front of you. She didn't mind. Her usual smirk morphed into something more tender. She'd seen you like this a hundred times, but it still hit her like the first. To anyone else, you might have looked untouchable—perfectly composed, a picture of poise. But Jinx knew better by now. She knew the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, how you stomped your pointe shoe in frustration with a dull clunk—almost like a bunny—when you slipped out of a pirouette, how your voice softened even further when you told her stories about your childhood, and how you leaned on her without hesitation when the world felt too heavy.

And then, as if drawn by instinct, your gaze flickered to the back of the room, and you finally caught sight of her. She saw the exact moment her presence registered; your concentration faltered, your foot slipping slightly on the polished floor, but a small smile broke across your face nonetheless. Without hesitation, you stepped away from the group—a faux pas—ignoring the raised eyebrows of the other dancers as you practically leaped across the floor toward her, your cheeks flushed from exertion.

"What are you doing here?" you whispered, the words slipping out between breaths. Your tone held no real reprimand—more like giddy surprise tinged with a warmth you couldn’t quite suppress.

"Came to see the best ballerina in the city,” Jinx said with a shrug that was far too casual to match the quiet intensity in her eyes. Her hand found its way to your waist with practiced ease, like it belonged there, her fingers curling with familiarity. "You're doing so good. You know that, right?"

"Really...?" you asked, your voice almost shy, betraying a hint of insecurity you usually kept buried under layers of performance. Yet, the tension coiled in your shoulders began to melt at the gentle pressure of her touch.

"Mhm," she hummed, a sound rich in affection and soft. Jinx had never been soft for anyone. Softness, she thought, wasn't hers to give. But she'd try—for you. Her thumb moved in slow circles against the fabric of your pink leotard, her touch so light and reverent it sent a shiver down your spine. She treated you like you were something rare, something fragile—not in a way that suggested you were weak, but in a way that made you feel precious, irreplaceable. Her ballerina. “Dressed so pretty, too."

Her gaze roamed over your frame, lingering on the soft pastel hue of your leotard wrapping around you like second skin and the satin of your pointe shoes. A faint heat bloomed in your chest at her words but before you could reply, a sharp voice cut through the moment, calling out your name.

"Have you forgotten where you are? Return to your position at once!"

Your head snapped to your ballet mistress, her piercing gaze holding all the refined venom only a Frenchwoman like her could muster. Her scolding struck you like a slap, each word perfectly aimed to remind you of your place. "I—I'm sorry, Madame," you stammered, your voice small but tinged with the careful respect she demanded.

"This is not the time for socializing. If you're not focused on your work, you're wasting everyone's time." The woman's harsh gaze then shifted to the blue-haired girl, a frozen mask of disapproval. "And you, mademoiselle, have no business being here. This is a closed lesson. A place for discipline, not distraction."

Jinx’s lips twitched as she watched the woman, clearly amused by the disdain in her voice. She tilted her head, her eyes glimmering with mischief. "Distraction, huh? I prefer to think of myself as a muse." She mimicked the mistress’ harsh accent with exaggerated flair, letting the French syllables roll off her tongue, clearly finding the theatrics in her delivery hilarious. “Muse,” she quietly repeated to herself, drawing it out like a well-rehearsed joke, barely able to stifle a snort.

"Jinx," you whispered, your tone pleading, and that seemed to do the trick.

"Alright, alright." She raised her hands in mock surrender, letting out a dramatic sigh. "I'm leaving."

The other dancers watched in silence, their expressions a mix of curiosity and poorly hidden judgement. Jinx moved toward the door, but as her hand rested on the handle, she hesitated, looking back over her shoulder. You were already returning to your position, your body mechanically slipping into form, but there was hesitation in your steps—an uncertainty in the way you shifted your weight, the slight misalignment of your feet that betrayed your fractured focus.

A pang of guilt twisted in her chest. She hadn't meant to cause trouble—not for you, at least. Watching you dance felt like standing too close to something fragile, something you didn't dare touch for fear of ruining it, but she couldn't regret coming. Still, the weight of her presence had been too much—again—so she shut the door behind her, the soft click echoing in the empty hallway.

It was another half hour until class had finished, the natural gold shining in from the outside replaced once again by the fluorescent light of the studio, buzzing faintly as the dancers began to scatter. You lingered, your chest still rising and falling from the last routine.

"Looks like someone had her mind elsewhere today," one of the girls teased, her voice light but pointed as she adjusted her warm-up sweater.

"Yeah," another chimed in, tying her shoelaces. "Couldn't focus on your turns, huh?"

You flushed, your hands fussing with the ribbons of your pointe shoes. "I was... fine," you protested quietly, though even you could hear the thread of uncertainty in your voice.

"Sure, sure," she continued with a sly smile. "Must be nice to have a fan club. It's kinda cute. Our little daydreamer."

Laughter rippled through the group, playful but sharp, like the sting of cold water. They hadn't meant any harm, not really. The teasing had been light, coated with the kind of sugar that only barely masked the sting beneath it. Still, the words stuck to your skin like burrs.

You hadn't answered them, hadn't tried to defend yourself despite what Jinx had taught you. What could you say? That they were wrong? They weren't. Your focus had faltered when you caught sight of the blue-haired girl—all careless confidence and sharp-edged charm, even from a distance. And how foolish were you to break basic ballet class etiquette, running toward her the way you had?

But that wasn't the point.

The point was how your devotion to your craft suddenly felt fragile in their hands, like something they could joke about and toss aside, how they took your love and tried to turn it into something laughable. And now, sitting alone with only the quiet buzz of the lamp for company, you felt offended in a way you couldn't quite explain.

Finally, you stood, zipping up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. How fucking dare they?

Jinx was leaning back against the brick wall outside the studio, the rough texture pressing into her jacket as she lit another cigarette. She didn't smoke often—only when she was angry, stressed, or waiting for someone. Her thoughts wandered as they always did when she was still for too long.

This wasn't her kind of place—too clean, too ordered. The neat row of bicycles locked up along the fence, the delicate lettering on the studio sign, the muffled strains of classical music seeping through the doors—it all felt a world away from the chaos that usually surrounded her. And yet, she stayed.

She shifted her weight, one hand stuffed in her pocket while the other toyed with the cigarette. She didn't need to be here. She could've been halfway across the city by now, spray painting a rooftop or tuning up one of her gadgets in her cramped apartment. But instead, she waited, her breath fogging in the cold like the steam rising from a hot cup of tea as the minutes dragged on.

It was you. It was always you.

The thought made her smirk, a wry, self-deprecating twist of her lips. She hated routines, and she definitely hadn't meant to fall into this one. But here she was, loitering outside a ballet studio like some stray cat who couldn't figure out where else to go.

The heavy door suddenly creaked open, jolting Jinx from her thoughts. A group of dancers spilled out, laughing and chattering, their voices breaking the stillness of the street. She stepped back into the shadow of the wall, letting the small crowd pass without a word, but the slight scowl on her face spoke volumes by itself.

And then you appeared, your steps dragging just enough to betray your mood, and her features softened.

"There she is," she drawled, almost to herself, her voice warm and smooth. She straightened as she took a final drag, making sure to exhale the smoke away from you and crushing the cigarette under her boot with one swift motion. She reached for her gum, popping a piece into her mouth. She knew you hated it, the bitter sting of tobacco clinging to her tongue, so she made the small effort just for you.

You attempted a smile, but it faltered, not quite reaching your eyes, though the tension in your body eased in her presence, and you greeted her with a soft peck. "You didn't have to wait for me.” Yet you were glad she did. She knew that, too.

"Where else would I be?" Jinx replied, her tone steady, but her gaze lingered on your face with a flicker of suspicion. She noted the dullness in your eyes, the subtle shift that went deeper than just the exhaustion from class. Her brows furrowed ever so slightly, a question forming in her mind as her tongue traced the inside of her cheek. "Those girls being dicks to you again?"

Your smile slowly dropped, slipping away like a mask too heavy to hold. You opened your mouth, instinctively preparing to deny it—not because it wasn’t true, but because you didn’t want to worry her, to trigger the fierce protectiveness you knew so well. Yet the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you exhaled shakily, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the question. When you finally glanced up at her, your eyes—vulnerable and wounded, like those of a kicked puppy—met hers. The sight hit her square in the chest, tightening something deep inside her.

“I think they were just teasing,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would make the hurt more real. You hugged your jacket tighter around yourself, a futile shield against the mockery they left behind. “But… it got to me, I guess. Made me feel like I wasn’t good enough.”

Jinx watched you carefully, her gaze softening as you shrank further into yourself. She hated seeing you like this, folding in under the weight of someone else’s cruelty.

“You know,” she began, her voice steady but edged with quiet fire, “they’re just trying to drag you down so they don’t have to feel so small. That’s all it is. It’s pathetic if you ask me.”

“I know,” you admitted softly, the words almost lost in the space between you. You didn’t sound convinced, but it was clear you didn’t have the energy to argue.

She sighed, taking a step closer. Her hand reached for your wrist, fingers surprisingly warm and firm as they curled gently around it. “C’mere,” she said, her voice low and coaxing, as if speaking to a wounded animal. She pulled you toward her, her touch more comforting than commanding.

And you listened, the weight in your chest loosening slightly more at the simple, familiar gesture. She always knew how to make you feel safe.

“You’re sensitive,” Jinx pointed out softly, her thumb brushing lightly against your wrist, grounding you in the moment. “And that’s not a bad thing, y’know? One of the things I love most about you, actually. You’re real.” Her words carried a calm, steady conviction that made your heart ache in a different way—this time, with gratitude.

She let a beat of silence pass before adding, “And you’re still miles ahead of them. Don’t let their shit get to you.”

You sighed, the last of your insecurities slipping away with her words. You stepped closer, letting yourself be pulled into her orbit once more as you leaned your forehead against her shoulder. The movement stilled something restless in her, and her hand instinctively slid to your back, offering the soothing caress of her palm.

“You’re so sweet to me,” you murmured, the words slipping out unbidden, barely louder than a breath.

Jinx cocked her head at you, a spark of mischief lighting up her eyes. She didn’t reply—not right away. Instead, with an almost exaggerated nonchalance, she reached out and grabbed the strap of your bag. Before you could react, she pulled it off your shoulder in one smooth motion and slung it over her own like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Wait, no, you don’t have to—” you protested, your hand darting forward to take it back.

She raised one eyebrow in a way that always stopped you in your tracks. “Not up for debate, princess,” she stated, her voice carrying that cocky, singsong lilt that was so distinctly hers. “You should know that by now.”

This earned her a faint scowl, but the way she adjusted the bag on her shoulder, standing a little taller like she was showing off, made it impossible to stay annoyed. Her grin widened, smug and sharp, as if daring you to argue further.

“Seriously, I can carry it,” you tried again, though your voice lacked conviction because, deep down, you liked it. There was something comforting in the way she carried your bag so effortlessly, like it wasn’t just your belongings but the weight of the day she’d decided to shoulder without being asked. And the way she looked at you, as if she saw straight through the weak protest to the flicker of gratitude you couldn’t quite put into words, made your chest tighten.

“Yeah, sure you can,” she shot back, already turning and walking ahead, easily taking you with her by lacing your fingers together, “but you’re not gonna. So suck it up, buttercup.”

The two of you fell into step, following the familiar route back to your apartment. The evening air was crisp, carrying the faint tang of the city—a mix of concrete, rust, and the distant promise of rain. As you walked, you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, a silent thank you that lingered in the air between you. Jinx didn’t say anything, but the slight flush that crept up her neck didn’t escape your notice.

Normally, she would have been a chatterbox by now, her words tumbling out in an endless stream of stories, jokes, and wild tangents that only she could follow, and you chased after. But tonight, she surprised you. She stayed quiet, not in the uncomfortable way that usually signaled her restlessness, but in a way that felt… calm. Like she didn’t feel the need to fill the space with noise, content to let the quiet speak for itself. It was rare, and you found yourself savoring the unspoken connection between you that settled into the rhythm of your steps.

The streets were quieter now, save for the occasional rattle of a passing train in the distance. Streetlights cast a hazy glow, their golden halos reflected on the slick pavement from an earlier drizzle. You reached an intersection where the streetlight blinked red, and you paused, neither of you letting go. She rocked on her heels, her free hand shoved casually into the pocket of her jacket. Her gaze flickered to the ground, then back to you, strands of her blue hair falling messily into her face. You turned slightly, stealing a glance at her. The faint neon from a nearby sign danced in her eyes, making her grin look almost electric. It was lopsided, unpolished, but real in a way that made your chest tighten in adoration.

Jinx slowed as you approached the familiar building, her steps faltering just enough to take in the worn brass numbers on it. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, her eyes tracing the scuffed edges of the metal as if seeing it for the first time—or maybe for the thousandth, in a different light. Without a word, she fished out your keys, holding them out with a small, almost shy motion.

You accepted them, your fingers brushing hers briefly before you stepped forward and unlocked the door. The sound of the lock clicking open echoed faintly, and you looked back at her, your expression quiet and expectant. The question wasn’t spoken—it didn’t need to be—but she answered it anyway, stepping through the door with you as you tugged on her hand lightly.

Her grip tightened slightly as you led her up the familiar stairs, the soft creak of the old wooden steps the only sound between you. The weight of the day slipped away, left in the cracks of the peeling paint and the worn floorboards below.

The apartment was small but warm, bathed in soft pink and orange hues from the neon sign made by yours truly. The living room was cluttered but comforting—colorful pillows strewn haphazardly on the worn-out sofa, a coffee table stacked with books and magazines, empty mugs, and bits of Jinx’s tinkering projects that she’d forgotten to take home. And in the middle of it all? A vase holding a fresh bouquet of pink roses, the message card still attached.

Both of you kicked off your boots by the door, the dull thud of leather against wood breaking the stillness. She dropped your bag beside the couch before straightening and glancing around the room, taking in every detail like she always did, as if trying to see it through your eyes. You, meanwhile, drifted toward the tiny kitchen, the motion so routine it didn’t require a second thought.

“Still haven’t cleaned up, huh?” she teased lightly, her voice carrying a warmth that made you smile.

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back, poking your head out just enough to send her a playfully pointed look.

Her grin widened as she finally shrugged off her jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch before following behind you, the heels of her shark socks scuffing lightly against the floor.

Your hand reached for the kettle almost automatically. The chipped red enamel on its side glinted faintly in the light as you filled it, the soft clink of it settling on the stove feeling like part of a quiet ritual.

“Tea?” you asked, already pulling open the cabinet to retrieve two cups, their mismatched patterns a part of your routine as much as anything else.

From behind you, Jinx leaned lazily against the doorframe with an almost amused glint in her eyes. A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, carrying a secret only she knew the truth behind.

"Sure."

[valeisaslut]

lost in the fire - mdni (+18)

⚢ pairing: Friends with benefits!Ellie Williams x Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

ෆ synopsis: It all started off as a game. A game where both sides won, the normal friends with benefits thing. The problem is that, more often than not, what sounds perfect in words is rarely perfect in practice. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭑ word count: 7.14 k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

♱ content: angst and smut!!, dom/switch! Ellie, sub/switch! reader, fingering (r! giving and receiving), oral sex (r! receiving), pet names, mention of parties and alcohol, a real rollercoaster of emotions, got a little dense with the fire analogy, kinda really cheesy bc im a hopeless romantic and got poetical at the end, etc. MDNI!!! 𖥔 ݁ ˖

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ Hey! SO...... SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING LMAO, I was busy with college and had no imagination, BUT IM BACK! AND WITH A 7K WORDS FIC! (thank you the weeknd's song for bringing back my writing skills) This is one of my fist smutty fics and english isn't my first language, so if there's some misspelling or writing mistakes I will be happy to receive constructive criticism <3 𖥔 ݁ ˖

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ݁ ˖

Anyone who plays with fire, most of the time will end up getting burned.

And if you keep playing with fire after it burned you, only ashes will remain.

It all started off as a game. A game where both sides won, it sounded perfect. The problem is that, more often than not, what sounds perfect in words is rarely perfect in practice.

You and Ellie have been friends since high school, and from the instant your paths crossed, you became inseparable. You shared secrets, laughter and tears, and you stuck together through the hardest times of your lives.

Together you grew up, watching as the shy pre-teens you once were transformed into two confident, strong college women marked by a bond that seemed unbreakable.

You trusted her more than you trusted anyone; she knew everything about you, and you knew everything about her.

Or so you did until now....

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ݁ ˖

It all started off, literally, as a game. A night of laughter and music at a college party, surrounded by your friends, when the random fate of a “truth or dare” game traced the first thread of a destiny that neither of you could have imagined.

"_____, I dare you to kiss Ellie" Dina said with a mischievous tone after you chose “dare”, looking at you as she sipped her beer.

The question of “what would have happened” if you had chosen truth is a question that will be repeated for the rest of your life. The butterfly effect of that decision materialized in the first spark.

You remained static. You automatically turned to Ellie, who was sitting next to you. You two had never kissed before; you hadn't even considered the idea. But in her eyes there was something different, a particular sparkle, a mischievousness that completely disarmed you. On her face, a lopsided smile seemed to invite you to take that next move.

"So, _____, what you waiting for? A dare is a dare" said Dina with a smirk that mirrored the expectant gleam in everyone else's eyes, the air becoming heavy with anticipation.

"For god's sake, fine! I'll do it... but I don't want ANY jokes about it afterwards" you said, and with trembling hands, you approached Ellie slowly. You closed your eyes and felt her hand land on the back of your neck, pulling you into her and joining your lips in a kiss.

The kiss was brief, a sigh in time, but enough to release a swarm of butterflies inside you, fluttering with intensity. Her lips were soft, warm, and the scent emanating from her skin suddenly became intoxicating, enveloping you completely.

That fiery spark, which at first barely glowed, began to grow, transforming into a faint, but irrevocably unstoppable fire.

When you separated, her eyes were still fixed on yours, shining with an intensity that hid something deeper, a desire that you were both trying to conceal, a hunger that wanted more. Her freckled cheeks were tinged crimson, as so were yours, the color becoming more intense with each passing second. For a moment, the world disappeared, and only the two of you existed.

"Damn, that was intense" Jesse remarked with a surprised tone, causing the bubble that had formed around you to burst and bringing both of you back to reality. "Is it hot in here or is it just me?".

"Well, a dare is a dare, isn't it?" Ellie said, laughing a little trying to relieve the tension that had quickly formed in the air. She sit up and drank the last remains of her beer before talking again “And no, it’s not just you”.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ݁ ˖

A month had passed after the party, but since then, an undeniable tension had been born between the two of you. Every time you looked at her, the memory of the kiss came back with such a force that it even scared you.

You told yourself that it was something stupid, a simple dare, nothing important. Many friends kiss, everything stays the same and then they laugh about it. But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, that moment and the feeling that echoed loudly in your heart haunted you.

But it was impossible to deny. It was impossible to hide.

"______.... have you ever... thought about our kiss again?" Ellie whispered as you both were in your room, hanging out sitting on your bed. You were chatting about stupid things, but the minute silence fell, Ellie could no longer hide the uncertainty that tormented her.

The question took you by surprise. You assumed that you would never talk about it again and the memory would fade with time. But it seems that you weren’t the only one who was still tormented by it.

"Well... yes. I think about it a lot" you admitted, unable to hide it any longer, and looked at her nervously "Why do you even ask?"

" ‘Cause I do too" she answered, her voice more husky and full of sincerity.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it was charged with electricity, that fire burning again, but now with more intensity. After a few seconds that felt like hours, Ellie spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And would you like to..... repeat it sometime?"

You stared at her, your heart beating wildly.

"Would you like to?" you asked back, in a deeper tone. Both of your connected eyes emanated sparks around you and your bodies involuntarily moved closer and closer.

"You really wanna know?" she said, and her green eyed gaze went down to your lips, up to your eyes, and then down again to your lips. There was hunger in her gaze, pure desire. “I would like to. And I would like it a lot”.

"Then what are you waiting for?" you replied, no longer having the energy to fight the feeling. You madly wanted her to kiss you, and you couldn't hide it anymore.

Without further waiting, Ellie drew you to her in the same way as the first time, and her lips met yours again. This time the kiss was very different; more passionate, more hungry. Your mouths moved as if you wanted to devour each other, pouring that hunger in your gazes in the movement of your lips, in the way your tongues moved together.

That dim fire became a blaze that did not stop until you were both breathless. It was as if that relentless fire sought to incinerate the two of you, and leave behind nothing but ashes.

And that fire burned until it consumed the night completely, bringing everything to a point of no return. It was your first true encounter, where you shared a pleasure so immense that it seemed ripped from a dream. The outside world ceased to exist and you were the only ones left, immersed in that heat.

That night was only the beginning of something more intimate and secret. From that moment on, you both agreed that you would keep hooking up and continue your friendship as if nothing was going on. The famous “friends with benefits” as people often call it.

It was the best of both worlds, and for some brief months, it worked perfectly. Your friendship remained intact, and since you knew each other's most intimate side, it was as if a new level of trust had unlocked. At the same time, you had an amazing lover, who had shown you a pleasure that no one had ever shown you before, and you never wanted it to stop.

No one knew about what you had, it was a mutual secret that made everything more exciting, like something dark that made you complicit in something that felt even criminal. Your friends didn't suspect a thing, or at least they never dared to mention the overwhelming sexual tension between the two of you.

No commitments, no strings attached, no being exclusive, just pleasure with the person you trusted the most in the world. It was a balance that seemed impossible, but worked.

What could possibly go wrong?

.....

Everything.

Everything could go wrong. And to your misfortune, it got really fucked up from one second to another.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ݁ ˖

It was a regular Saturday, surrounded by your friends at a college party. Ellie was there as usual, since she was part of your friendgroup.

The night was going on perfectly, dancing and having fun, while the alcohol was enveloping you in a warm feeling of disinhibition. Until suddenly, you noticed that the auburn-haired had disappeared, as if she had faded away without leaving a trace. You hadn't even noticed it at first, but when you did, something inside you began to wonder if her absence had any meaning.

You said you had to go to the bathroom, assuring Dina that you could go alone, because you were actually on your way to find her. As you walked through the halls of the big house, a deep gut feeling began to seep into your thoughts, an uncomfortable feeling that clouded your mind. As you walked up the stairs, that same intuition caused you to turn your head. And what you saw froze you.

You saw Ellie holding hands with an unknown girl, guiding her with steady steps, her gaze loaded with silent promises. With a subtle smile, she whispered something in her ear, opening the door of the house before fading into the darkness. Their silhouettes got lost in the night, both with a mutual complicity and desire that spoke louder than a thousand words. There was no room for doubt, it was painfully obvious what they were about to do.

You felt an ice-cold stream mercilessly piercing your chest.

A dense, painful knot formed in your throat, squeezing so tightly that you could barely breathe, while a bitter nausea shook your foundations. Your eyes began to water, betraying your effort to maintain your composure. You stood frozen on the stairs, as if by remaining still you could convince yourself that this was not real, but a product of your imagination.

The situation was ridiculous. You were nothing serious. It was just an arrangement that sounded and worked perfectly. Passionate encounters at night, mornings full of words of complicity, a shared secret. It shouldn't hurt so much.

Your legs moved to the door, starting to walk as if they had a life of their own towards your place. Thousands of messy thoughts were making a disaster in your head, until you felt a wet droplet running down your cheek. Why were you crying? It never meant anything. You were non-exclusive, she had the right to be with whoever she pleased.

Then why did you feel as if your heart had been ripped out of your chest, thrown on the ground and then stepped on? It was all just so stupid, you felt stupid. You meant nothing to her, and she should mean nothing to you. She should....

And at that very moment, the truth hit you with a force that suddenly stopped you in your tracks.

You had fallen in love with her.

You had fallen in love with her gaze, her smile, her face, her body, her humor, her personality, her nerdy hobbies, absolutely everything about her. You had always been, but since everything became so intimate, the feeling intensified on a huge scale, but up until now, you had never been strong enough to accept it. When you saw what you never wanted to see, the weight of your own feelings crushed you.

Friends with benefits, you agreed, although only now did you realize that you weren't friends at all. Not with the way she looked at you after every kiss. Not with the way your heart raced every time she brushed your skin.

You didn't want to realize what you felt for her before, because it terrified you. You were terrified that she wouldn't feel the same and loose everything you had; but what really shattered you was seeing her with someone else, as if what you had didn't mean anything.

You were head over heels in love with her, how could you not accept that before? It was so absurdly clear, and as inevitable as death. She inhabited your days and nights, your first thought when you opened your eyes and the last murmur of your mind when you closed them. She was everywhere: in the air you breathed, in the shadows of every corner, in the beating of your heart…

The fire that once wanted to consume you both had done its job, but only with you as its victim, devouring you cruelly and slowly. It left you feeling like cold ashes on the ground, temporarily carried away by the wind.

You walked back to your place, each step heavier and more painful than the last. When you arrived, you barely managed to open the door before your legs simply gave out. You let yourself fall, your back sliding against the wall until you hit the cold floor.

Then the tears, held back until that moment, poured out uncontrollably. You covered your face with your hands, trying to muffle the sobs that escaped from your chest, unable to handle the pain that seemed to tear at your heart apart.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ݁ ˖

A week had passed since that day, and the memory still burned like an open wound. You didn't answer her texts, you didn't answer her calls. Every vibration of your phone was a reminder of how much it hurt, and it was easier to ignore it than to accept the reality.

The reality was that you had absolutely no idea what to do now. All that love you felt for her was unrequited, and now that you had accepted it, you couldn't look at her without feeling your heart shattering even more. You couldn't pretend nothing happened and be her best friend again, let alone have sex with her again. That would only feel like rubbing salt in the wound.

So ignoring her was your simplest solution, even though you knew it wouldn't work for long. She would soon realize that you were completely avoiding her, and you knew that once she got fed up, she'd take real action. She could not be indifferent, she was always direct, blunt, and would not stand still in the face of your silence. You just wanted to delay that moment as long as possible.

But it was like ignoring the elephant in the room. Like not acknowledging a storm that you knew was about to shake the foundations of your world. You didn't know exactly when. But you knew it would happen at any moment.

It was almost two in the morning and you were lying in your bed staring at the ceiling. Your mind was a mess, as it had been all that goddamn week. You couldn't stop thinking about her, and all the words you couldn't say to her piled up in your chest like an unbearable weight.

As if you had called out to her telepathically, a knock on your door resounded like thunder. You knew it was her. No one else would come unannounced, especially at this hour.

You hesitated for a second, but your feet already carried you to the entrance of your apartment. It seemed like it was impossible for you not to answer that knock. When you opened the door, there was Ellie, her hair disheveled, her eyes dark,  her lips pressed into a thin line. She had that unmistakable thing about her, that mix of determination and vulnerability that always made your throat tighten.

"Why are you ignoring me?" she asked suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about" you replied, trying to keep your composure and lie as best as you could, but your voice cracked. You turned around and left the door open, not inviting her in. She entered your place anyway, of course, loudly closing the door behind her.

"I don't understand what did I do to you" she said, and her tone wasn't one of accusation, but of genuine confusion "I texted you like a million times and called you a hundred more. You never ignored me like this since we've known each other. Come on _____, a whole week? stop beating around the bush and tell me what the fuck is your problem"

"You want me to tell you? Fine, I'll tell you" You turned to face her, pent-up anger rising like a torrent "I saw you. At the party. Leaving with her".

Her eyebrows furrowed, but something in her realized something. For a moment you thought she was going to deny it, but instead she let out a heavy sigh.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked suddenly, but her tone wasn't cold or accusatory. There was a strong uncertainty behind it.

"Why do you care? You wouldn't understand it anyways, Ellie." you said, avoiding her and looking down at the ground. You didn't have the courage, you didn't have the strength to tell her how you felt. You had this feeling in your chest that knew you could ruin everything if you did, that you would lose everything in a second because she wouldn't reciprocate you. "It's obvious that this was just a game for you".

"Why do I care? I care a lot more than you think" she raised her tone, beginning to despair at the situation. "And it was never 'just a game' for me, but I thought we agreed that we weren't exclusive".

"Believe me, i fucking know about that arrangement." you spat, your anger completely overtaking you, your tone rising to the same pitch as hers. "Do you even care about me at all?".

"What do you mean I don't care about you?" Her voice broke and she looked at you confusedly before she continued "I thought you were ok with-".

"I was!" you shouted, interrupting her before she could finish the sentence, unable to hold back the anger running through your veins "But that was before I saw how you were going to hook up with her!".

"She didn’t mean anything!" she replied again, her tone much higher now, impatience flooding her voice and expression "Now answer me, why do you care so much?!"

It was if the ground had been ripped out from under your feet, leaving you suspended in a void that squeezed your chest. The pain inside you was so strong that your words shot out before you could even think of them, running over each other, overflowing like a force you could no longer restrain.

And you screamed it out, your voice cracking under the pressure of a truth that had consumed you in silence until you could no longer hold it in the shadows.

"Because I fell in love with you! Is that answer enough for you?! I'm so in love with you that it's fucking killing me!"

You stood still, unable to believe that your heart acted faster than your brain, and still unable to believe what you had just confessed. You felt the weight on your chest lighten, but it became an even bigger one, the weight of rejection.

The silence that followed was deafening. Ellie’'s eyes grew wide. She just watched you, as if trying to understand something she hadn't expected to hear.

"You.... love me?" she whispered, almost as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing, letting the words slip out carefully, as if they were so fragile they might break.

"For a long time...but after seeing you with her, I realized it was much deeper than I thought...." you said, your eyes still on the ground, a knot forming in your throat, and the fear that your now watery eyes would betray you. The fear that rejection was all that would be left was eating you from the inside out. ".... And I know you don't feel the same way, so if you want to end it all here, I'll accept it."

Ellie closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to gather strength. When she opened them, something changed in her gaze.

"You really think I don't feel the same?" she said, her voice shaking but charged with something that made you stop breathing. She took a step toward you, cupping your face with both hands to lift your face, her touch warm and familiar, but different now, as if she was breaking down an invisible wall.

There was urgency in her eyes, a trace of something that made the rest of the world fade away, the distance between you shrinking until it disappeared. You slowly looked up to meet her bright green eyes, filled with a light you had never seen before.

"I got scared" she went on, her voice barely a whisper "What I feel for you is so.... big, i didn't know how to handle it. I thought being with someone else would help me forget it, but it didn't work. I can't stop thinking about you. I can't be away from you, even if it scares me"

You stood there transfixed, caught in those dark eyes that now burned as intensely as a fire. And then, before you could even process it, her lips found yours. The kiss was anything but tender; it was an explosion of pent-up emotions, of frustration and desire, of all the words that had never been spoken. It was burning with that same fire, now burning brighter than it ever did before.

"I hate you so much" you murmured against her lips, though you both knew that was a lie.

She smiled slightly, her fingers tracing a path from your waist to your lower back.

"Liar." she whispered, her voice hoarse.

She pushed you gently against the wall, her body pressed against yours, and everything else faded away. The world stopped spinning outside that moment, outside of her hands exploring your skin as if trying to memorize it, her lips seeking yours with an urgency that made you shudder.

Her lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, leaving a trail of fire that made you arch your back. Your hands sank into her hair, tugging lightly and drawing a sigh from her that made you shiver.

"Ellie... " you whispered her name as if it was a prayer, as if it could somehow explain everything you felt. She lifted her head to look at you, her breathing as erratic as yours.

"I don't want this to be just words" she murmured, her voice trembling but steady at the same time. Her breath brushed against your skin and something inside you snapped again, but this time it was not pain. It was pure desire.

"Then make them more" you replied without thinking, looking at her with an urgency you didn't know you felt until now.

And that was all it took. In one fluid movement, she carried you to the room, opening the door and entering the place dimly lit by the hanging lights that adorned the ceiling. Upon reaching the corner of the bed, she gently pushed you against the mattress and pounced on you like a hungry woman.

Her body was so close to yours that you could feel the heat emanating from it. Her lips found yours again, but this time, there was no hesitation, only need. It was a kiss that demanded everything, that made you forget the days of silence, the insecurities, and all the pain.

Her hands slowly moved down your arms, leaving a burning trail in their wake, until they reached your waist. You stood up slightly as if you didn't want there to be even a space between you. The softness of her lips were different from the strength of her grip, and that contrast made you lose yourself completely.

"You have no idea how much I missed you" she murmured against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made you shudder. Her voice was deep, laden with something you had never heard before.

"And you have no idea how much it hurt to see you with her" you answered, almost breathless, but your words had no accusation, only honesty.

She stopped for a second, resting her forehead against yours, and with that gaze, she transmitted something that made you feel both vulnerable and safe.

"I never wanted to hurt you. You are the only thing I want. You are the only person I want to be with." she murmured against your lips, and that confession was enough to undo any barrier that remained between you.

The distance between your bodies disappeared completely. Her hands explored your skin with a mixture of tenderness and desperation, as if she tried to memorize every inch of you. Each touch was a reminder of what you had been denying for so long.

Her lips sucked and her teeth sank into the delicate skin from your neck all the way to your collarbone. As she pulled back slightly to admire her handiwork, she felt a savage satisfaction knowing that you would be wearing those marks for the next five to seven business days, at least.

Ellie lets out a soft gasp, pulling her shirt from her back with one hand and tossing it somewhere behind her. You let out a sigh at the sight of her bare torso, and your hands went straight to tug on her hair, pulling her closer to you.

Your eyes watch her as she pushes up the hem of your shirt, letting out a deep breath as she finally manages to discard the garment, murmuring a curse. You were wearing only a huge nightshirt that reached mid-thigh, leaving you without any other clothing.

"You’re perfect" she says in a husky, lustful tone as her dilated pupils land on your breasts, and you can see in the corner of your eye how she licks her lips. Your hands go to her sweats, and as you pull them down, you can hear her kick off her shoes and help you take them off, kicking them back the moment they hit the floor.

The air in the room thickened with an intoxicating warmth as each kiss and gentle caress talked the unspoken words that had lingered between you for far too long. The soft brush of skin against skin ignited a searing heat that enveloped you both, almost overwhelming.

The intimacy deepened as your whispered breath carried her name. She met your gaze with a tender smile, then leaned in closer, her lips finding yours again with a fervor that sent shivers down your spine. It was a kiss filled with urgency, as if she wanted to make sure you understood that this wasn't just another moment for her.

You broke away from the kiss, and you feel her smooth fingers against your lips. Your mouth opens as easily as she remembers, and she has to swallow another thick moan as you suck her fingers into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around them to taste her intoxicating skin, and the sensation runs through her like an electric current.

“God... fuck…” she murmurs lightly in a moan, pulling her fingers out of your mouth as she adjusts you so you’re straddling one of her thighs, your own thigh pressing between her legs to rub deliciously against her sensitive, aching pussy.

She hisses lightly as your hips roll down her leg, your head lolling back. Picking up a slow rhythm, you grind against her, your wetness spreading along her skin as you let out moans every time you rock your hips back and forth.

Ellie’s mind begins to become a blur at the sight of you, your nipples hard from the cool air of the room. She leans down and opens her mouth slowly to close it on your nipple, teasing her teeth over the sensitive flesh, and smirking at the way it makes the rhythm of your hips falter. Your fingers pull harder at her hair and you let out an almost pornographic moan, her other hand sliding up to knead your other breast. She can't help the little jerks of her own hips against your thigh as well, her underwear now soaked.

"Els- Els..." you gasp her name, and the sound goes straight to her pussy like an electric current.

"Tell me... tell me what you want..." She moans as you move and your thigh presses harder against her, her mouth half open.

"Your fingers...please....." You whisper in her ear haltingly, and she feels like she could have a heart attack at any moment. Something in her brain chemistry changes every time she's next to you, and she swears that the effect you have on her should be studied by scientists.

"Shit… you're gonna be the death of me” she murmurs after swallowing heavily, adjusting herself back as you lift your hips. She pauses when she feels you grab the elastic of her boxers. A small laugh escapes her chest at your anxious gaze and your shaky hands.

"Out." you say, almost petulantly, as Ellie moves her own hips so that she can slide her legs, kicking them to the side.

"Happy now? "

"Yeah, much better" you smile, sinking back into her thigh, as your arms wrapping around her shoulders. She moves her right hand to your soaked part, teasing two fingers around your entrance.

Her eyes lock onto yours, a silent plea for your permission, and you nod eagerly, anticipation going through you like electricity. She pushes a finger past your soaked folds and immediately feels you enveloping her, the pressure making her own cunt clench. Ellie hisses, moving her hips against your leg.

“God, just like that…” you gasp, raising your hips to lower them again, your nails digging into the skin of her back.

“Want more?” She asks, as you go up and down a couple more times. You nod, just as fervently as the first time, if not more so. 

“Atta girl” She whispers low as she sinks another finger into you and rejoices in the way you moan, how loud and strong it sounds coming from the back of your throat. Your eyes roll back as you begin to ride her fingers, your hair falling messily around your shoulders. She reaches up her free hand to take a handful of it in her palm, pulling it back to give her more access to your neck and leaning forward to suck another dark hickey over the skin where your pulse is.

Ellie’s head spins, going delirious with desire as she pushes a third finger into you, watching as your mouth opens in a silent moan and your entire body shudders around her. You’re so wet, so tight, that the building arousal between her legs is beginning to reach a climax, as she moves shamelessly against your thigh still between her legs.

The scene seems straight out of a movie, those kids aren’t allowed to watch. Your mind can't formulate a single coherent thought. All that exists now is Ellie: her fingers, her scent, her ecstatic face, her half-open mouth, and the enormous satisfaction that consumes you. The air in the room is thick and dense, almost as if it could be cut with a knife.

You both feel like you always do when you are in these moments; as if you are the only two people that exist in the world. No one and nothing else matters; nothing else makes sense except the immeasurable pleasure that threatens to tear you apart with the intensity of a natural disaster.

That same fire that always existed now burns with the power of a forest fire that sought to destroy everything in its path, including the two of you in that destruction.

And you swear this is what heaven must feel like.

"God fuck! Yes! Ellie!" you scream, nothing else matters anymore. You move up and down so hard and fast that Ellie has to take a second to admire how strong your legs are. She thanks the gods for having someone like you in that instant, before her thoughts become tangled in a sizzling mess when you slide your hand into the space between her legs and yours, your fingers pressing messily between her folds.

"Can I? I wanna make you feel good too… "

Ellie nearly has that heart attack she thought of earlier, nodding fervently and spreading her legs to give you more access, feeling you slide two fingers inside her without warning.

“______! Shit! " she curses your name as you curl your fingers up and stars blur her vision. She moans as you pump your fingers into the knot of nerves inside her, her own fingers soaked as you fuck yourself on them.

It’s all becoming too much, and before she knows it, the tension in her lower stomach snaps like a thread. Her core throbs around your fingers as her orgasm shakes through her, white bursts of pleasure flashing through her eyes.

“Mm - Holy shit _____....,” she gulps, blinking as your silhouette comes back into focus in her vision, the buzzing inside her head still echoes from the aftermath of her orgasm. She vaguely notices you smiling at her for a second before you lean into her to give her a sweet kiss.

Ellie moans into the kiss, her breathing evens slightly as you pull your fingers out. When you pull back to slide them into your mouth, she feels like she’s going to cum again just from watching that. You look up at her with blown pupils and heavy eyelids, your tongue sliding around your fingers, tasting the taste of her climax, intense and unmistakable. A taste you could never get tired of; a taste that screams “Ellie”.

“Jesus…Christ....” Ellie gasps, and somewhere in her head, there’s a small voice screaming “holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit, how did I get so lucky?” over and over again until it becomes the impulse that makes her lean up, pushing you down and letting your back fall onto the bed with a smug, indulgent smile.

“Mmm... come closer, beautiful.” She makes her way down your body, trailing kisses down your chest and pausing to circle her tongue around your nipples only for you to arch closer to her. She drops a few lingering kisses down the line of your stomach, before blowing a little air over your throbbing clit, her fingers parting the folds of your soaked centre.

She swallows dryly, moaning to herself, as you feel your body jerk and tremble at the feel of her hot breath on your most sensitive part, impatient and eager from so much arousal.

“You've got the prettiest fucking pussy” she murmurs as you let out a soft whimper, your fingers sinking into her hair. "I’ve been dreamin' bout this for weeks"

She looks up at you and marvels at the sight of your body, naked above the mess of sheets, as beautiful as a work of art. A work of art meant for her eyes only.

She squirms with desire and finally drops her mouth to you, licking a long stripe along your entrance, her eyes nearly rolling back at the taste of you soaking her tongue.

“A-ah! Ellie!” you cry out as your head falls completely back, making a thud sound against the pillow. Your fingers pull her hair even tighter, and your thighs clench at the sides of her face. You both swear this is the hottest moment you’ve ever experienced.

Not long after that, she gives a few hard sucks on your clit, pushes three fingers inside you and just like that you’re falling apart beneath her. Your thighs shake as you moan, shudder and gasp through your orgasm.

If you felt like you were in heaven before, now you were experiencing the presence of God himself. The knot in your lower stomach unties and breaks in a crash that shatters you, leaving you breathless, white flashing through your eyes and a broken, desperate cry escapes from your mouth.

Ellie talks you through it, pulling away from your centre to press a kiss to your shoulder, your breaths beginning to even out and your vision finally coming into focus.

“Hey there, princess,” he smiles.

You’re still breathless, but you pull her down for another long kiss, tracing her jaw with your thumb.

“Wow..... just.... wow" you murmured, breaking away from the kiss and looking at her with a flushed face.

Ellie laughs, throwing herself like a dead weight next to you, staring at the ceiling, getting a little lost in tought. The warmth of your old hanging lights illuminate everything with a soft, diffuse glow. She feels you turn to look at her, your cheek resting on your arm. She turns to mirror your position, reaching out a hand to caress your cheek. After a few minutes of silence, she finally speaks.

"Maybe it'll sound kinda rushed but I.... love you. I love you, _____ " she whispers, her voice like a caress that slides gently through the air before her lips kiss your forehead, an action that seems to stop time. You feel like your insides melting, as if every part of you finds refuge in that moment.

"I don't wanna hide what I feel anymore" she continues, with that same tenderness capable of breaking all your barriers. "From now on, I want everything between us to be sincere, only truth."

Your arms wrap around her chest, trying to bring her closer, until there is no space between you. Curve by curve, skin on skin, her warmth envelops you, and an indescribable tenderness blossoms between the two of you. In her embrace, you feel like you found your place in the world, a corner where everything makes sense.

"I love you too, Ellie... more than you could ever imagine" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, sweet and full of contained emotion.

The silence that now falls is not awkward, but a silence in which both of you take the chance to admire each other. For eternal minutes her eyes trace every detail of your face, and yours do the same, as if she wanted to memorize every line, every shadow. A smile, shy and full of love, curves on her lips, reflected by yours. In that moment, everything is perfect, there are no more masks or fears, only the love you found in each other.

"So... does that mean we are... dating now?" you murmured, the doubt evident in your words, although your heart screamed the answer you wanted to hear. You needed her to say it, you needed her to confirm it.

Ellie stared at you. And she continued to stare at you with that green eyed gaze of hers that makes you forget how to breathe. The pause was brief, but it felt endless. She suddenly let herself fall back with an over-the-top groan that could only belong in a cheesy soap opera.

"Are you for real right now?" she exclaimed, bringing a hand to her chest in an offended manner. "Are you really hitting me with the “what are we” question after all that drama?! I showed up at your place, we fought, made up, I bared my soul and told you that I love you, we had a movie-worthy confession, i mean, we even fucke- "

"ELLIE WILLIAMS! I get it!” you yelled, crawling forward to push her before she could finish that dangerous sentence. You managed to quickly get her to lie down completely while you positioned yourself over her, your hands holding her wrists. You were blushing up to your ears in embarrassment, but you couldn’t help but laugh a little at her drama.

Ellie arched an eyebrow, an “Are you seriously doing this to me?” expression etched on her face, even as you tried to hold on to your dignity.

“It’s just that…”

“It’s just that… what?” she asked with a hint of amusement, through her eyes sparkled with tenderness.

“It’s just that neither of us have asked it properly…and-”

“Shhh…” She cut you off gently, as if she had completely forgotten her moment of theatrics, and with a certainty that made you nervous.

You froze. Your hands instinctively let go of her wrists as she sat up, making you fall onto her lap with almost insulting ease. Her hands settled on your waist, holding you tenderly. Her eyes met yours, and a mischievous smile appeared on her lips.

"______, love of my life, light of my eyes, owner of my heart" she began to speak with an slightly mocking and sarcastic tone, but after a few seconds of suspense, she said what you had longed to hear for so long.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

And the question floated in the air like a feather. Her warm and now not at all mocking tone made your heart explode. You felt the air completely leave your lungs, because in her gaze there was nothing but sincere love. A smile spread across your lips, so pure and sweet that Ellie narrowed her eyes as if it was too bright to handle.

"I swear that smile of yours is gonna give me cavities..."

But you didn't give her time to say anything else. You leaned towards her, capturing her lips in a kiss that answered her question more than all the words in the world. When you finally broke the kiss, gasping softly against her lips, your hands tangled in her hair.

“Yes, yes… I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Ellie held you tightly, whispering in your ear, her voice so soft it almost knocked you over.

“You know, I never thought I’d find something so beautiful in this world,

but then you came along.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ݁ ˖

In that instant, as you both smiled with wild, imperfect love, both hearts beating in unison, something was revealed deep within you.

It doesn't matter that the fire burned you completely.

The ashes will always be worth it.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ݁ ˖

DAMN THAT WAS INTENSE! sorry for the end lmao i got a lil Shakespeare complex

Hope yall enjoyed and I'm SUPER grateful for every repost, like or share you wanna give!!! :D

(sorry again if there's any spelling or writing mistakes)

[chocsra]

✧ STORMBRINGER CHUUYA AS YOUR GUY BSF IS .... (pt 2 -> pt 1!)

✧ w/c: 770 ✧ content: drabbles & headcanons of cute things with best friend!stormbringer! chuuya

☆ watching as you do your makeup, his upper lip hinged into an annoyed frown. "did you know, if you hurried up we could get your damn ice cream much quicker?" the teenager rolls his eyes as he stands beside you, extending his wrist to examine the time on his analog wristwatch—expense swimming in his choice of attire. you ignore him as you draw a fine streak of eyeliner into a mirror, chuuya purses his lips in boredom. "its just ice cream." he repeats, before ruffling his russet hair, not paying attention to how your gripping the instrument much tighter. "its just ice cre—" before the boy could finish his sentence, he was soon cut off to eyeliner being thrown straight at his face.

☆ enabling his nosy side, any activity he was doing being completely dismissed as soon as new gossip inhabits the area.

"[y/n], i think i saw your ex-boyfriend today." he whispers, fiddling with his gloves in thought. you, studying in a library, immediately stopped your pencil and paid your undivided attention to the redhead. "what do you mean you saw my ex?" you question, sassily glaring at him as he elegantly sips on some coffee. "y'know, the one that wasn't ready for a relationship." chuuya says, "that was something else, we never dated." you scoff in disbelief, returning to your schoolwork. the redhead cocks a brow in annoyance, "yea yea, whatever. point is, i saw that jackass with another girl, to hell he wasn't ready for a relationship." another girl? you immediately drop your pencil again and drop your jaw, "what?" the boy nods sassily, pulling out his phone to show you a picture of indeed a romantic date of your ex-talking stage and another girl in a makeup store. "holy shit, i think i know her." you clasp a hand over your mouth, cheek smushed against his shoulder to get a closer look. "but why were you in a makeup store alone?"

...

an overcoming silence took over the two of you, "shut up." he quips before turning off his phone and motioning you to continue studying.

☆ watching movies with completely different reactions. sometimes, you'd go to the movie theatre together, watch in the middle of the night on a video call, or in the comfort of one of your homes. he'd curl his upper lip into a leer at some shoujo anime as you would giggle and kick your feet. "oh my god, he's practically harrassing her, he should be arrested." chuuya complains, looking extremely distressed at the current predicament of the show, looking over to you for approval of this treatment. you could only fawn and giggle, "usui takumi!"

☆ chuuya enjoys action movies, but sometimes complains when they're not accurate or over-exaggerated. he fanboys whenever gravity is mentioned and genuinely closes his eyes in a deep sadness whenever a dog's story is told. you have never seen him more upset than when you watched "a dog's way home" together.

☆ being so envious of chuuya's damn eyelashes. they're long and luscious with a natural lift that almost looks like they were curled. his lashes often contrasted with his stormy eye colour and freckle-stained cheeks. you'd find home in the storm by holding eyelash curler, pinching at his lashes as the boy huffs and groans. "it hurts— dammnit!" the redhead pouts, pushing your fingers away, messing up the calcuations of your hand as his eyelid gets pinched. "chuuya!" you (both) scream.

☆ there's something else about doing his makeup against his will, though. the subtle look in his eyes, the kind of look that brews up something in the pit of your stomach. he peers through his lashes and the handle of your brush, the two of you making silent eye contact in your room before quickly turning away.

☆ chuuya getting pissed off whenever you snap a unflattering photo of him. so in return, he shoves his phone in your face at the randomest time to catch a photo even the port mafia wouldn't be able to get out of you. instead, he stares at the picture each time, and even if you're struggling to get the boy to delete it, he just screams: "why can't i take a bad photo?!"

☆ sometimes wondering where you lay on friendship. why do you feel so drawn to chuuya, and why does he feel so close to you? his mind tells him you're his dearest friend, but his heart aches for something more. since the redhead believes a heart is what he lacks, he'll never accept the risk of loving someone, loving you.

✧ chocsra™

[gothamite-rambler]

StephCass Pact: If in two years Cass and Stephanie are still single or unfulfilled in their dating lives, they’re going to start dating since they don't want to rush into that type of commitment.

Author's Note: This is a future AO3 fic, and currently, I’m seeing Stephanie as bi and Cass as a lesbian. I’d love to hear your thoughts! And to those who aren’t fans of StephCass, feel free to scroll past this post.

Stephanie: I have an announcement to make, everyone! In two years, if Cass and I aren’t in relationships, we’re going to give dating a try.

Damian: You... might want to push that timeline up; I’ve seen your taste in men.

Jason (snort laughing): He means Tim.

Tim (looking up from his tea cup): Huh? What? I said sorry! How long are you going to hold that against me?

Damian: Forever. Stephanie, I will say Cass is better than Drake. Cass is better than a lot of the people you've dated.

Stephanie (bonking Damian on the head lightly): I’m going to let that slide, you little gremlin. Cass is pretty amazing, isn't she?

Stephanie grinned, a dreamy look in her eyes and her hands on her hips. The others exchanged surprised glances but quickly rallied to support her discovering her sexual preferences and wanted to wait to date Cass instead of rushing into it.

Stephanie: I already got approval from Barbara; she took Cass out for lunch. With them gone, I wanted to tell you guys! She said it might be a sooner, but she’s not ready yet. Neither am I. So in the meantime, I'm… taking up knitting, video games, and speed dating. I kissed my first girl a few months back, I loved it.

Kate: I was the same way with my second girlfriend in army. Being in the army sucked at times, but Tiffany made it easier. She used to keep my bed warm—

Jason (raising his voice): Damian is in the room.

Kate (effortlessly changing the subject): While we studied the Torah.

Jason: Nice save. Stephanie, did you just come out as gay to us?

Stephanie unzipped her jacket, revealing her bisexual striped T-shirt. A striped dinosaur adorned the front, sporting the colors of the bisexual flag.

Stephanie (eager): Not gay, but bi and I did! Your girl likes men and women!

Jason (chill): Hm, cool.

Kate clapped like she was watching golf.

Damian: Your coming-out moment was better than Drake’s too.

Tim (reading the shirt): Damian, I’m going to hit you later. What does that shirt say? "Why not both?" with a dinosaur on it. You would wear that during your coming-out moment.

Stephanie: You know me well, and my coming-out was better than yours.

Damian laughed, earning a playful slap on the head from Tim.

Tim: I'm happy for you either way.

Stephanie: Thanks. Yes, yes, I am bisexual. Dating hasn’t gotten any easier, but I’ve been enjoying meeting different women. I definitely have a stronger leaning toward women over men.

Kate: Don't blame you there. Not that I'm saying dating women is better, but I'm thinking it.

Stephanie: Kate, shush. You guys are being super supportive and I needed that since... I have to tell my mom. Do you LGBTQ+ folks have any suggestions?

Tim laughed while sipping his tea, shaking his head. He had to use a pie analogy when telling Bruce.

Kate: You're asking the wrong woman. Good luck!

Stephanie tapped her chin thoughtfully just as her mom and Bruce entered the living room, having overheard much of the conversation. Crystal Brown cleared her throat, surprised by the announcement.

Stephanie (spinning around, caught off guard): Ma, what are you doing here?

Crystal: The rat bastard owed me money.

Bruce: I have a name, and it was fifty dollars for gas.

Crystal: Rat bastard—I said it correctly. Silence. Now… Stephanie, are you telling the truth? Are you a wee lesbian?

Stephanie: It’s more than that. I… you see… Ma… It took a lot of soul-searching and being around both genders.

Stephanie took a deep breath, keeping some distance from her mom. Crystal's expression stayed neutral as she waited.

Stephanie: I’m bi. Not a lesbian, and this isn’t a phase; it’s who I am. I understand you’re a born-again Catholic, and I’ve supported that, especially since the church helped you get better. But I hope you don’t disown me. You're the only parent I have and I love you. I know this is new for you, but I’m still the same person.

Crystal tapped her chin, deep in thought. Kate straightened up, waiting for her mother’s reaction. Tim leaned forward, ready to intervene if necessary. Kate even grabbed a book, poised to toss it if the response was negative.

Crystal smiled softly and opened her arms wide.

Crystal: Come here, baby girl.

Stephanie (being pulled into a hug): Is this like a goodbye hug?

Crystal: No darlin' I would never. Jesus taught us to love each other, and while I’m new to this LGBT and Q stuff, what I do understand is that I love ya. You figured out who ya are and told me.

Crystal pulled away and gently cupped her daughter’s cheeks.

Crystal: You have made me so proud. The fact you’ve found out who ya are means you’re doing better than me, your father, or the rat bastard.

Stephanie smiled, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. She hugged her mother again, and Crystal patted her on the back.

Jason (while reading): That’s nice, and Bruce got insulted too. Good day.

Bruce shrugged, annoyed at being insulted without having spoken. Kate dropped the book, placing a hand on her chest.

Kate: Whew, I thought I was going to have to kick her ass.

Crystal: There’s no need for that. I had a friend back in Ireland who was a wee lesbian. Nobody believed that roommate lie. Plus, I’m going to love my Stephy no matter what. The Lord brought us back together, and I want to make her happy. Will grandbabies be in the mix?

Stephanie: I actually don’t mind having kids someday, so yeah, when I’m ready.

Crystal: The Lord is good then.

Stephanie: He or she sure is. I love you, Ma.

Crystal: I love you too, baby girl… even when you test my patience like you did with that wise joke about the Lord.

Crystal and Stephanie laughed, hugging once more. The rest of the Batfamily found the heartwarming mother-daughter conversation touching, but Bruce was still trying to figure out ways to set Cass up with any other woman.

Kate (sniffling): Oh my God, this is so sweet! Times have changed when a Irish Catholic mother accepts her bisexual daughter.

Jason: Are you crying?

Kate (wiping her eyes): I can’t help it! I got hit with all the feels when she didn’t disown her.

Crystal (her arm over Stephanie’s shoulder): I would never disown my flesh and blood. The Lord gave me to her, and I’m not giving her back. If I did, though, I wouldn’t blame ya for poppin' me in the mouth. Speakin' of judgmental pricks, are you ever going to tell that Protestant bastard I conceived ya with?

Stephanie: I’m working on a plan at the moment… it’s going to be good.

Crystal: Tell me how it goes. I can yell at him afterward.

Kate (clasping her hands together): This is so beautiful: acceptance and vengeance! Bruce, how are you handling this?

Kate snickered while covering her mouth. Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but realizing Crystal would be mad whether he spoke or stayed silent, he decided to voice his thoughts.

Bruce: Stephanie isn’t dating my daughter. It’s not happening. It’s good she finally realized her sexuality. Yay, acceptance, but they will not be together!

Tim (interrupting Jason): Bruce, how dare you ruin this Romeo and Juliet relationship?

Jason laughed, nodding.

Stephanie (placing a hand on her chest, dramatically): That really hurts my feelings, Bruce. Ma, I guess I’m not good enough for Cass. Oh, woe is me?

Crystal (angrily, with a tight smile): Stay here, sweetie. I gotta yell at the rat bastard!

Crystal marched over to Bruce and began to yell at him in her thick Irish accent. Kate and Jason watched the argument unfold like it was a televised event, while Damian continued drawing. Stephanie clapped eagerly, already feeling closer to her future girlfriend.

Damian (whispering): If it means anything, I’m not against you two getting together.

Stephanie (whispering): Thanks, kid. That actually means a lot to me.

To be continued and thanks for reading!

StephCass Masterlist

[shorelinessightlines]

Jupiter is often referred to as the star that failed. Max thinks about that, sometimes, when they're racing and he's just passed Daniel on track. He can look in his rearview mirrors and see the little three on the AlphaTauri—Daniel, in a shitty car he outperforms every weekend, and Max, already set for the podium.

When Max is particularly bored, he rewatches old races from 2014, ‘16, ‘18 and thinks about it, unbidden—how if Lewis and Max simply didn't exist, it might’ve been Daniel on the top step at the very end of the season. Daniel fighting for titles and wins, not letting anyone keep the 1st place cap on their head long enough to mess up their hair. If he'd just been a little quicker, a little more ruthless; if he'd stuck around long enough for the Honda engine, the RB19. If Daniel had just been a fraction of a second better.

Then Max feels bad for ever thinking such a thing. Not because it isn’t true, but because it sounds like something his dad would say.

Jos used to buy Max magazines full of interviews by Senna, Prost, Mansell. He said they were full of stars. He laughed at Max when they got home after Zandvoort in 2011, back when Max was still in karting and Daniel was just starting out in F1, and Max had said: "I want to be just like him."

That Christmas Jos bought Max a poster of Nigel Piquet and said, "This is the type of man you should be looking up to." Max hung it up on his ceiling that night and stared at it. He had thought, privately, that if Piquet was a star then he must have been one of those small stars, the ones that you can’t really see from Earth without a telescope. Daniel was closer, brighter. Sun-like.

He tore down the poster the next morning.

Jos was right, of course, to steer Max towards more successful heroes. Jos would never point to Daniel's article in GQ Sports and tell Max he's looking at a star. Daniel smiles at him, though, on the paddock and off, and it feels like sunshine.

He tells Daniel as much during the summer break, in Daniel's Monaco apartment, tipsy off some expensive wine Max can't even pronounce the name of.

"Jupiter is a very stupid planet," Max is ranting, unreasonably pissed about it. "You know, it has ninety-five moons? The fuck does it need ninety-five moons for? Stupid." He chugs another sip of wine, straight from the bottle. Daniel does the same.

"Jupiter?" Daniel muses after he swallows, less inebriated than Max but still drunk enough to have begun sitting on the couch upside down. The top of his skull almost touches the floor. "Mate, don't diss Jupiter like that. Space gets lonely, maybe."

Max snorts. "It is a planet, Daniel, it does not get lonely. It should just have one moon, or no moons. It is not very loyal."

"It is a planet, Maximus, it cannot be loyal," Daniel says back to him, snarky, in a high-pitched voice and a bad Dutch accent.

"Is that supposed to be me?" He shoves at him, accidentally causing Daniel's head to bang against the floor. Whatever. He deserves it. "Name one good thing about Jupiter."

Daniel shrugs as best as he can. "Biggest planet in our solar system or whatever the fuck. Why are we talking about Jupiter again?"

"Because it is awful, and my dad is not correct." Daniel laughs, at that.

"What? Does your dad, like, love Jupiter or something?"

Max points, accusatory. "See, that is exactly the point! He does not love Jupiter! In fact, he is awful about Jupiter!"

Max can almost see the gears in Daniel's head grind together slowly. "Then why are you dissing Jupiter?"

Max groans. His thoughts make less and less sense the more he goes on. "I am not, of course, dissing Jupiter. I am simply pointing out the fact that Jupiter is not a star and you, obviously, are a star." He's getting lost in his own, brilliant analogy.

Daniel says, "Oh yeah, Maxy?" He has his stupid smile on, the one that Max knows means he thinks Max is crazy but will indulge him anyway. "Well it's very nice that you think so."

"Of course I think so," Max scoffs, perfectly serious. He hates that he can't really look Daniel in the eye, sitting right-side-up. He opts to sit like Daniel, head towards the floor and legs slung over the back of the couch, so he can stare directly at him. "I am being serious."

"Well, I'm serious about that Jupiter shit. Best planet ever. Number one Jupiter defender, right here," Daniel slurs, pointing at himself and flashing his brilliant, sun-warm smile.

Max can't help but smile too.

"You are very stupid," he says, and it sounds like something else. "I am trying to tell you that I think you—you." He flushes, cutting himself off and looking away from Daniel, up towards the ceiling.

"Ah, whatever Maxy. You just can't accept Jupiter's superiority."

Max tries one last time, to make him understand. "Jupiter is called the star that failed," he says, trying to prove something.

Daniel is looking at him, he can feel it. His stare burns a hole in the side of Max's head. "I'm okay with that," he says, suddenly very very soft. "Jupiter's the biggest planet in the solar system. He's got a whole ninety-five moons."

"But he is not a star," Max scowls.

Daniel smiles again, smaller. Kinder. "He gets to orbit a star. He gets to be the biggest planet, and orbit a fucking star, the best star in the universe. That's a pretty sweet deal if you ask me."

Max shakes his head and says, "You are unbelievable." He reaches over to grab Daniel's stupid face and kiss him, and promptly falls off the couch.

[portgasdwrld]

Strawhat reactions to a chiropractor or massage therapist joining their crew? (Sfw) I know they get injured and could use it.

I love those random ideas lately 😭helps me out if my writer block💕

📂Strawhat + chiropractor/massage therapist reader joining their crew

Mostly them reacting to you proposing them a session

Luffy

He’s so fucking excited. He’s jumping everywhere, begging to be your first client. He’s already laying down in your office to have his body cracked, but then you realize as you do it that his body is literally made of rubber and it’s impossible for you to work on him. When you tell him the news, he’s whining and tells you to try again😭 He’s all pouty so you decide to massage him and that put him out to sleep real quick. He went from sulking to sleeping. When he woke up, he commented about how good this was and truly he never felt this alive in a while.

Zoro

He would totally refuse at first and complain about how he doesn’t need it and how he only needs to rest a little (a good nap), and he will be fine. But then you actually try to convince him to do it, as you saw how much his body had to go through with his training, the battles, his poor sleep position… He finally agrees only after Chopper tells him how it can better his performance and make him feel more relaxed. He barely admits that it did in fact made him feel better, but now he jumps to the occasion whenever you propose it 🚶🏻‍♀️

Nami & Robin

The girls are so freaking happy especially Nami. She pretty much asks you for a session whenever she feels sore after working hard on maps or when she had to fight. She chats to you about life and tell you some gossips. She loves to make conversation and treat it a bit like a spa day.

Robin was down to try it, but she usually use her devil fruit if she feels sore somewhere and need to release some built up tension, because of stress or battles. Basically, she never needed someone for that, but after Nami told her how amazing you were, she gave it a try. She’s mostly silent and take this time to relax her body and empty her thoughts.

Usopp

He’s a bit scared at first because he heard some people talk about horror stories at the chiropractor. He heard some people got their bones cracked with no going back to normal or how some doctor were secretly psychopath 💀💀💀 To say the least, he really didn’t see the appeal to risk his life like this 😔 If you poke fun at his ego, he might do it just to prove it to you that he isn’t scared (his legs are shaking the moment he enters your office). He has difficulty relaxing which put you off , You have to wait for couple minutes, make him sips some relaxing tea. When it finally happens, he’s bragging about how cool it is and how everyone should do it🙄 there is legit nothing to be scared off pfff???

Sanji

I don’t know why, but I get the feel Sanji would somewhat be shy 😭 When you ask him if he wanna have a session to help with his stress, he would just look at you like 😳?? He would try to make analogy to food, like it’s a bit like how he hit(?) the meat before cooking it so it’s tender, but in that case it’s gonna make him relaxed. You kinda just stare and nod because whut 😭 He honestly could use it with all the cooking he does and the fights. He loved it but he got flustered a lot. He was red-shy when he left 🚶🏻‍♀️

Brook

He’s a skeleton.

Franky

Finally FRANKYYY, this man was BORN for this. He is so excited and is so talkative. He asks you when you started and why did it became your profession. He pretty much tell you to only focus on the back of his body because it’s less solid than the rest of his cyborg body. So you went in for a massage and he’s really vocal through it. As it ends, he tells you he’s happy you joined and he will be a regular which makes you laugh because you two are literally on the same boat lol 😭

[proseandpretrichor]

Library Love | Loki x Reader

Summary: The TVA's beloved librarian unintentionally set up Loki with her favorite regular, unknowingly sparking a budding romance between the couple Warnings: None, just fluff Word count ~ 2489

Loki often found himself in the TVA library. It was where he found a certain peace for himself, a little bit of familiarity in such a different atmosphere. 

Because of such a frequent habit, naturally Loki had acquainted themselves to the patterns of the book-clad walls.  

The only working librarian, Dorace, was scheduled from 7am-3pm. Although she was hardly there for all of that time. Most of the system was done on paper, only the analog of the amount and names of books were kept on the very ancient computer at the front desk. Books were checked out and returned via sign out sheets attached to clipboards, only enforced with the good ole honor code. The only room in which Loki abided by religiously. The floor wasn’t never consistently all that busy, just a few stragglers looking for research for their reports and casework, and there were even less regulars. 

In fact, until today, Loki had convinced himself he was the only regular… 

It was a stereotypically boring day, with only a gloomy feeling aura separating it from all the rest. Loki had plopped himself at black leather clad armchair by the fire he claimed each day, reading a psychoanalysis from Asgard. 

After a few hours in which Loki had neither moved nor looked up from the worn pages, Dorace appeared in front of him with a mug clasped in her age worn fingers, steam rolling from the liquid almost like a dance it partook with itself. 

“Here’s a cup of tea for ya, love, figured I’d make you one before I leave.” She informed him, handing him the cup.

“Are you departing for the day?” Loki questioned her, taking a moment to glance up from his novel for the first time since he sat down to peer at the spindly arms of the large clock hanging over the small front desk, nestled between the two arms of the staircase rising to the second floor. 

10:34 AM, a bit earlier than the old woman usually lasts. 

“Are doing alright, my dear Dorace? Is there something that ails you today?” He asked eyes sweeping her form for any signs of illness. He found none that stood out at first glance. 

“Just a little ache in my knees, either it's my arthritis or it is going to rain. Regardless, both require me to be off my feet. And if it is the latter…” She paused to look out the window over her spectacles that had drooped down her nose from peering down at his seated position, before she continued, “I have no interest risking a cold, while strolling back home.” 

Loki hummed, taking a sip of his tea before joining her gaze, searching the cloudy sky. 

“If you need anything while I’m gone, searching a book or making another cuppa, Y/N can assist you.” She followed her words with a shaky pointed finger. Loki followed her motion to find you in the corner of the second floor, tucked into the little nook of the loveseat situated in the bay window. Next to you were a rather impressive stack of books. 

“I didn’t even notice her there.” Loki muttered mostly to himself. 

“Yes, I often forget she is there myself, very quiet, never troublesome. Got me the kettle actually, so sweet. Been here longer than myself I think.” Dorace supplied him, trailing off in volume seemingly lost in thought before turning, “Have a lovely day, dear, stay dry.” 

Loki responded only with a wave, knowing she had reached a distance at this point that rendered her unable to hear his farewells, even if he gave them. 

After a few minutes, Loki found his mind wandering from his pages to you. Sighing in defeat he closed the book, placing it onto his lap before returning his eyes to you. 

You had moved onto a different book at this point. Out of boredom, perhaps, Loki considered before deciding against it, you had looked too engrossed in the words when he first noticed you to be bored of its contents. You must be a fast reader, he concluded. 

The more he watched you the more restless he became. Suddenly he rose from his chair, and began making his way to the grand staircase. Pausing only for a moment to consider his actions before shaking off his doubts and climbing up the stairs. 

Your eyes stayed flowing across the page as he approached you. Even still as he stood before you, his eyes trailing down your appearance. 

Your frame was curled into itself, thighs pressed impossibly close to your chest, which in turn pushed the topmost slopes of your breasts up straining against the seam of your top. You were dressed comfortably yet the fabric clung beautifully against your curves, as if they were embracing you into a hug refusing to ever let you go. Your hair was pulled up from the nap of your neck absentmindedly with a few stray pieces falling into your gaze. Fuzzy slipper-like boots were covering your feet, which were slowly tapping in the air to the rhythm that encased your world with some background music which was floating from your earbuds.  You had on wide thin framed glasses that kept slipping ever so slightly with every twitch of your nose which Loki recognized as a sign of your deep engrossment in the novel, a romance novel, he assumed by the very poetic cliche title, something that didn’t deter you from its pages. 

Several moments had passed, yet you had still not lifted your gaze from your enchantment or noticed the tall dark-haired man’s presence. 

So ever so uncharacteristically light, Loki cleared his throat which finally alerted you to his figure. 

You jumped a smidge from your seat with a gasp, hands flying up to rip the earbuds from their place, melody still echoing through the speakers, “You scared me, god.” you scolded softly, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. 

“I’m ever so sorry, my lady, I was hoping you would notice me on your own but I was worried as the time passed on it might heighten your fright.”  Loki apologized with a bow of his before reaching down and clasping one of your warm hands into his own and raising it to his plush, pillowing lips. He gently pressed his lips to the top of your hand, before all too soon he removed his lips and lowered your hand whispering, “Please accept my apologies, my dear. I hope I have not upset you.” 

An eruption of butterflies danced around your tummy as you looked up through your lashes, to find his captivating gaze already locked onto your features, sincerity and adoration swirling in his green irises. 

Realizing he had spoken to you, you bowed your hand to your hands that were fidgeting in your lap, “No, no! It is not your fault at all, I’m sorry, I get so lost into the world sometimes, I really need to be more aware of my surroundings.” You hastily blurted, you were so proud your voice was not withering with nerves when you spoke. 

Much to your delight, the handsome stranger let out a deep melodic chuckle,  “I find that trait to be very admirable.” He motioned to sit opposite of you on the loveseat. “May I?” 

“Oh, yes! Please go ahead, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to keep you standing.” You scrambled to move your stake of books onto the side table you moved over to the bay window. 

“No apologies necessary, my lady,” He assured you will sitting down swinging one lag on top of the other before resting his chin on his closed fist perched onto his knee turning his head to look at you, “Dorace was quite taken with you when she when she came to alert me she was leaving. I just wanted to become acquainted, since we are the only ones in the library at this present moment. “ He followed his words with a twirl of his fingers motioning around the room. 

As you followed with your gaze, you noticed that indeed he was right. “Well, it is wonderful to me you…” You trailed off realizing you didn’t know his name. 

“Loki, Pleasure to meet you, my lady.” 

“My name is Y/N,” You responded with a wide grin. “Do you come here often, Loki?” 

“Yes, I do find myself here quite often.” He nodded. 

“I do as well.” You agreed, rubbing your hands around your arms. You were not chilly, but under his intensity you felt as though your veins were made of lightning bolts, but also exceedingly vulnerable, like he was peering into your soul. What scared you most was not that he quite possibly had the capability of such a thing, but what he might find once he did.  Did he like what he saw? Why do you care? You were not quite sure, you knew it was irrational, but part of you knew that whatever binded lovers together, was weaving your lives together. 

You ended up talking for the rest of the day. Once it had shifted well into the evening, you finally realized the world outside of your little bubble.

Loki was absolutely wonderful. He was brilliant, he exuded such care in developing his intellect. He was quite funny, his jokes were not of the dumb pun type humor most men liked to exhibit while talking to women. Loki’s jokes were witty and well-timed, they were truly laughable. He also seemed to be delighted in making you laugh, always trying to draw out as many of your giggles as possible. 

You were familiar with his existence, a very smart girl like you would know at least a few things in relation to him thanks to what the humans called norse mythology. He was always portrayed as cunningly evil and selfish, only using his magic and other talents for his gain and benefit. 

In addition, it was quite a large deal when the TVA started pursuing him as a variant, even more so when Morbius convinced him to work with them. The employees couldn’t believe how Loki was able to make such a large character switch. 

You were not like them. You knew you didn’t know his story which would have most likely explained his actions thusly, and that there had to be more to the god then just the human legends. In a few short hours were proven correct and you couldn’t be more thrilled, and possibly beginning to fall in love. 

As you two made your way out of the library, there was a nervous silence blanketing over you both. 

You hoped he enjoyed his time with you and found you as likable as you found him to be. Once you made it to the double doors, Loki, ever the gentleman he was raised to be, opened it for you before following you out. After locking the door, you turned to face him. 

You did not anticipate the space between the two of you and turned to find him only a few inches from yourself. You could feel his warmth breathe fanning across your lips, before his fingers brushed yours causing a zing to run up your arm. 

You stood like this for a few seconds before he moved his hands to tilt your chin up so you would be forced to look him in the eyes. 

“I thoroughly enjoyed our time together, darling.” he said before interlacing his fingers with yours and giving you a gentle squeeze. “I hope to see you again.” 

“Really?” you looked at him quite shocked, “I wasn’t sure if you liked me.” 

“Quite the contrary I am afraid…” He whispered his face moving close enough to feel a ghost touch of his lips,your eyes searching him for any sign of deception. “I am quite taken with you. You are intelligent, kind, bright, and the most beautiful woman I have had the privilege of knowing in my thousand years of living.” He admitted to you and you felt your heart race. Is this really happening? Surely you were dreaming. 

“May I kiss you?”  he almost pleaded with you, as if he would not breathe any longer without it.

“Please.” You practically begged, and if it was anyone else, you probably would have felt shame, but you couldn’t not in this moment and certainly not with him. He has only existed in your world for a short time and he has surely ruined the ability for anyone else to try their way into it now. 

He looked into your eyes searching for any hesitation, finding none, he finally pressed his lips against yours. If Loki was not holding your chin in his fingertips, you would have been convinced that this was a dream. His mouth was soft and tasted of cinnamon and sugar and slotted so perfectly with yours, a perfect fit, like they were molded intentionally with the thought of the other in mind. He brought his free arm to wrap around your waist gripping your hip tightly, pulling you as close as physically possible. 

The sudden movement,  warranting a gasp from you as you pressed your palms against his firm suit clad chest. 

Loki used this opportunity to sneakily slide his tongue into your parted mouth, pressing his warm tongue against yours. 

As the kiss intensified your hands moved to his neck twirling the tendrils which had curled down his nap. 

The kiss lasted several moments before you both reluctantly pulled away for air, both of your swollen lips gasping in huge gulps into your depraved lungs. Loki tilted his head down to press his forehead against yours resting in the bliss of this moment. 

Finally, you both pulled away. Loki bringing both of his hands to intertwine with yours, “I would very much like to see you again, Perhaps a date, if that pleases you?” he asked you hopefully. 

You smiled up at him allowing him to relax just a smidge. Standing up on your tiptoes, you brushed your lips against his once more before answering his question with, “Yes, I would be delighted, Loki!” 

You wanted to bottle up the look Loki gave you as a response. You wanted to hide it away from others so it was only something for yourself to see whenever you please. His mouth stretched into such a beautiful grin causing his eyes to sparkle in pure happiness. 

Silently he offered you his arm, which you gladly took. He curiously accompanied you home and after bidding eachother a goodnight with another kiss you, closed the door, leaning against it for a few moments to catch your breath. 

You wished you could find yourself at the time of the date wishing to already see Loki once again. This budding relationship with Loki was going to be life-altering, you could feel it, and you could not be more excited for the memories of the life that awaits you.

[schraubd]

New Frontiers of Darkness

The Washington Post has unveiled its new slogan to supplement (in practice, supplant) the old "Democracy Dies in Darkness": "Riveting Storytelling for All of America." I can't tell you how much I hate this. First of all, even out of context, it sounds both comically corporate and unbearably patronizing. "Riveting storytelling for all of America" sounds like how to market the Scholastic Book Fairs for emerging readers, not one of America's papers of record. But of course, we must take this slogan in context. And the context is the Post spending the last few months humiliating itself and dynamiting its journalistic credibility by repeated acts of groveling towards the MAGA movement. And I know I'm beating a dead horse here, but this slogan really encapsulates the media's self-delusion that it is part of the liberal family. Again, recall my thesis here: the media thinks its main audience is liberals, and so it sees its job as to challenge liberals with "alternative perspectives" or "competing views" (as opposed to just telling the truth and letting the chips fall where they may). One implication of this is that conservatives are a growth audience (because of course the Post in its prior manifestation couldn't be speaking to them) -- this is what "for all of America" means. We're no longer speaking just to the latte-sipping coastal elites, but to all of America. And lest you think I'm projecting, they're being quite explicit that this is what they mean: Mr. Bezos, the founder of Amazon, has made comments in line with the new mission statement in conversations with Post journalists in recent years, according to two people familiar with those discussions. Mr. Bezos has expressed hopes that The Post would be read by more blue-collar Americans who live outside coastal cities, mentioning people like firefighters in Cleveland. He has also said that he is interested in expanding The Post’s audience among conservatives, the people said. Now nominally, recognizing that conservatives are part of the audience could mean that the Post starts committing to telling them things they don't want to hear. For example, they could be informed, in no uncertain terms, how Trump's tariffs will crush working families with spiraling grocery bills. Or they could be told, in clear-eyed fashion, of how Trump's inner circle is proposing increasingly fascistic and lawless abuses of government power. Or they could be shown, without varnish or spin, how the Republican Party has begun to view sexual assault and rape as virtues in its political leaders -- not even a secret to be ashamed of, but as an affirmative basis for support and promotion. But of course, we all know that is not what Bezos and his cronies have in mind. "Riveting storytelling" suggests that what they want is sensation and soothing -- to reaffirm their (new) readers' priors, never to challenge them with something as dirty and discomforting as the truth. Conservatives can't tolerate hearing that Donald Trump was a grotesquely unsuitable choice for the presidency, and so the Post (even in its editorial endorsements) won't aggravate them. The Post knows that many if not most of Trump's cabinet picks fail the most basic (by the Post's own lights!) criteria of qualification for office in a democratic society -- respecting the outcomes of a democratic process -- and so the Post will just pretend it doesn't matter. The Scholastic Book Fair analogy is more than snark, for this is of a piece with the broader trend of infantilizing the American right. Conservatives, once again, are being treated as children, and spoiled children as that -- whatever junk keeps their attention, that's what will be provided.  A once great newspaper, reduced to an entertaining diversion for spoiled, coddled brats. Maybe the slogan isn't so bad after all. via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/lpZWSRu

[essentiallyleaf]

Ya know what , I'll give you an idea

As a commercial pilot how bout a kink "plane sex"

And pls write Rosé with this kink

day 15. body worship. with. rosé.

1268 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, body worship, lots of kissing and licking, feet stuff, abs stuff, oral sex, fingering, squirting, minor plane stuff, the dialogue just goes places idk, hold onto your suspension of disbelief for dear life, blasphemy(?).

notes.

this is barely even related to the ask, isn’t it? sorry, icyphilosopher, i really am (thank you so much for the inspiration though). well, my excuse is i watched Queen & Slim (it was alright, the soundtrack might be the best part. that and Daniel Kaluuya) and felt like crime today.

The private jet has barely taken off when Rosé starts taking her clothes off, starting from the black heels, then proceeding with the black cropped blazer, the high-waisted black shorts, along with the belt and the chains attached to them, the polka dot black shirt, and finishing with the black stockings and her black underwear. She puts them all in a black trash bag and throws herself on the beige leather sofa face first, completely naked.

“Fuck this ‘No fires on the plane’ rule.” She complains into the beige pillow.

“I mean, if you want to burn them now and cause a fire, making the jet collapse on itself and getting us buried on the bottom of the northern Pacific, go ahead.” You reply nonchalantly as you take a sip of vodka while sitting cross-legged on one of the beige armchairs.

“Honestly, compared to the prospect of a ten-hour flight with you, that doesn’t even sound that bad”

It’s Rosé’s habit to burn clothes, phones, cars, (people,) anything that can be linked to her in a meaningful way, after every job. This time it was a fairly straightforward drug trade with this Yakuza syndicate in Osaka: give the talcum powder, take the money, go home. The road was somewhat bumpy and a couple heads had to pop, but what can you do. Oh, and the getting naked in front of you part, that was a thing way before you two started fucking.

You stand up from your seat and duck next to the couch as she turns her head towards you. Start caressing her smooth, long blonde hair as you admire her graceful features. How could such a cold, brutal criminal look so angelic?

“Are you in a hurry?”

“Leave no trace.” She recites her mantra matter-of-factly.

“You think someone’s on our trail?”

You lay on top of her and start kissing her shoulders, from the left, then move her hair to kiss her neck, to the right, and back a couple times.

“Someone’s always on your trail.” Your kisses start heading down her back, each a little wetter than the previous. “You know how it always ends with people like us, right?”

You think you hear Rosé’s voice break for a split second, but you could be wrong. Place your hands on her shoulders and start slowly making little circles with your thumbs as you keep traveling down.

“We get greedy and scared and die sad and alone?”

“We always trust one person too many”

As your trail of kisses gets to her lower back, right above the curve of her ass, you flip her body around. Bend her legs on her chest, then start massaging each foot with one of your hands, going from the middle of her soles, to her heels, to the balls of her feet, untangling her muscle fibers all the way through. You hear her humming in the meantime.

“So? Would you stop living your life for that?”

“I would try my best not to end my life because of that.” You bring her feet to your mouth and start pecking her toes, then travel down the inside of her feet and up again kissing her soles. “Plus, it gives me a sense of peace, of liberation”

“Ashes to ashes?”

“In that analogy, I would be… God?”

Take a long lick from her heel to the ball of her foot, ending by wrapping your lips around her big toe and licking all around it.

“Do you feel like one?”

“I don’t think God sees himself like we see him” She moves her other foot towards your mouth to signal you to switch, which you do, as your hands reach towards her small breasts and start softly playing with her rosy nipples. “Powerful men need people to adore them to feel immortal. Immortals don’t need our attention to be powerful”

“You think God is a woman?”

“I think God is a depressed fuck.”

You let out a chuckle. Then lower her knees again and place yourself between them to start kissing and licking her wonderful, sculpted abs. Your right hand almost instinctively starts lightly rubbing her already wet outer lips, your left grabbing her plump asscheek.

“What a short couple billion years alone in the button room could do to ya”

“But honestly, working on the wrong side of the law… I think it’s hard not to feel like one” She starts panting a little in between words.

“Ego?” Your mouth slowly travels down her lower stomach while your fingers play with her nub.

“Just, pure facts. I could kill a man that crosses my path at any time, and I have. Mmmmh. We just, own their lives. The decision to let them live on, or to end them, right then and there. It’s all ours. Yeahh- How do you not feel all-powerful when you have that?”

It becomes hard for her to complete a sentence without any moans in between.

“Does it matter?”

“W-What?”

Rosé’s focus is probably directed away from the conversation, and towards the feeling of your fingers opening her lips wide and your tongue taking one long lick from the bottom of her slit up to her sensitive clit.

“I don’t know them. Are decisions over the lives of people you don’t care about even worth making?”

You take several shorter licks around her slit, side to side, up and down, once in a while penetrating her hole slightly.

“What do y-youh care about?”

As her moans become longer and more frequent, her sentences become simpler and shorter.

“Right now, taking my money home”

Your tongue digs deep into her pussy, you try to reach every corner and crevice of her heat with it, and her whimpers tell you you’re doing a pretty good job at it.

“And th-en, what?”

Your mouth detaches from her right as she sounds like she’s going to give in. You get on your knees and pause for a second, looking at the empty floor of the plane. 

“...I don’t know, a legacy?”

“Villains have no legacy, they only leave bloody paper and hate behind them”

You get back down to face her, staring right down Rosé’s deep brown orbs. Your fingers return to her lower lips, and two of them make their way into her slippery walls, drawing a loud groan off of her. You start pumping in and out of her at an ever increasing pace.

“Love. I want someone to come back home to, to be there, waiting for me, to heal my wounds.” She’s now moaning right in your face, her pitch getting higher and higher, signaling her impending high, but her eyes are wide open and locked on yours. “To be able to spend time with, in silence, without it feeling awkward, not needing to worry about the future, just looking at her in the eyes, and, being in love.”

A few final pumps and Rosé starts repeatedly contracting around you, a stream of unholy water covering your entire hand and wrist in a profane coating, only a deep, tongue-filled kiss muting her screams as she finally can’t keep her eyes open anymore. You close yours with her as her arms wrap around your neck. The kiss lasts far longer than the already lengthy while she takes to recover from her strong orgasm. As both of you stare into each other’s pupils again, you’re the first to talk.

“How do you know when you’ve found what you’re looking for?”

“I don’t know. I think I’ll start from, looking at the junk I’ve collected on my way, before burning it”

-

footnotes.

god is a journey. progressively, leaf.

[naomijoestar]

Hi I, I thought of a funny scenario in which Giorno is having an identity crisis about having two biological fathers but Reader is exchanging glances with Mista and Narancia because it's not adding up? How does that work? But the three of them feel like idiots, maybe one of them starts to laugh nervously (hysterics) which prompts the rest of the Bucci Gang to intervene? (It unfolds in more chaos). Sorry if this is so random but sksksks it just popped up in my mind 😭👍 I guess this is more of a platonic scenario but I'll leave that up to you, thank you and sorry for the messy request

Masterlist here <3

This is so silly and I loved writing it, I hope you enjoy!

Giorno’s crisis and funny chaos

It all starts with Giorno thoughtfully pacing the room. “It’s just…sometimes I wonder who I am. I mean, biologically speaking, I have two fathers. DIO, who is technically Jonathan Joestar, and…well, biologically that doesn’t make sense.”

You glance at Mista, who’s frowning and squinting like he’s trying to do algebra in his head. Narancia leans toward you, whispering, “Does Giorno mean, like…two guys? How does that work? Like, scientifically?”

Mista, clearly overthinking it, mutters under his breath, “Maybe it’s like…a frog thing. You know, like how some frogs can—”

You interrupt, “Mista, that’s not how human biology works.”

Narancia squints at Giorno, then looks at you and Mista. “Wait, are we saying Giorno is a frog now?”

The three of you exchange increasingly baffled glances while Giorno’s lamentations about identity continue in the background. Then, out of nowhere, Mista lets out a nervous chuckle

You side eye him, confused. But then Narancia starts giggling too, more out of secondhand awkwardness than anything else. Your lips twitch—you’re trying so hard to keep it together, but the absurdity of the situation is getting to you

The giggles snowball into full-blown hysterics. Mista is doubled over, tears streaming down his face as he wheezes, “Two dads…how?!” Narancia is laughing so hard he’s gasping for air, slapping the nearest table for support

Giorno pauses mid-monologue, turning to the three of you with a mix of confusion and mild offense. “I don’t see what’s so funny about my existential dilemma.”

Before you can explain (not that you’d know how), Bruno steps in, visibly concerned. “What’s going on here?”

“Giorno has two dads!” Narancia blurts out between laughs, gesturing wildly toward Giorno

“We know,” Fugo says, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s already done with this conversation

“Do we, though?!” Mista exclaims, throwing his hands up. “Do we really understand it?!”

At this point, Abbacchio chimes in with a groan, “If I have to listen to another word about Giorno’s parentage, I’m going to walk into the ocean.”

Trish, sipping her drink, raises an eyebrow. “Honestly, I always assumed it was just…Joestar weirdness. Why are we dissecting this now?”

Giorno, still frustrated, tries to bring the conversation back to his identity crisis, but his voice is drowned out by Mista and Narancia arguing over whether frogs or seahorses are a better analogy for Giorno’s situation

And you? You’re stuck in the middle, trying (and failing) to mediate while also laughing uncontrollably because, really, how did it come to this?

If you’d like anything changed or added, you can always message me and I’ll fix it!

If you enjoyed this make sure to check out my other posts, and if you’d like anything specific written for a jjba character/squad you can request it if my requests are open!